


Bedrock

by withoutstars



Series: Bedrock [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Neptune Vasilias/Sun Wukong, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutstars/pseuds/withoutstars
Summary: Blake Belladonna arrives on the island of Patch wanting nothing more than to start her life over. A quiet, anonymous life of reading, maybe caring for some plants. But Patch holds secrets, some deadly. And none of them are more dangerous to Blake than the exuberant, irresistible energy of Yang Xiao Long.Modern AU based loosely on life on the islands in the Salish Sea. Inspired by works by @kienava, @pugoata, @TophsGrace, @lescousinsdangereux and more.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Series: Bedrock [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176722
Comments: 83
Kudos: 163





	1. Patch

The mainland ferry terminal had an overhead walkway for passengers, but the ferry terminal at Signal was different. All the foot passengers made their way past the cars and trucks on the ferry to the bow. A simple steel ramp lowered slowly onto the deck with a solid _thunk_. After a few moments, a man in a lifejacket and high-visibility vest gestured impatiently at the crowd. In the shuffle of people and bags, making herself as small and anonymous as possible, Blake Belladonna set foot on the island of Patch for the first time.

Signal was a smaller town than Blake expected. The harbor was little more than a cove, with a marina full of pleasure boats and a few fishing vessels. Tourist stores and small restaurants lined the street closest to the shore. An old fish processing plant had been converted into small shops…wait, was that a _bookstore_? One of Blake’s ears twitched.

One thing at a time. Blake couldn’t spend money she didn’t have. Instead she followed the crowd up the hill from the ferry terminal, looking for Sun.

Sun had promised he’d be by the large maple tree uphill from the ferry, and he was. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d be sitting on a branch about halfway up. Sun saw Blake, waved, and leapt down, ignoring the approaching sheriff’s deputy.

Blake embraced Sun with genuine affection. He was still underdressed, still with the lazy smile and devilish eye. He’d acquired a wedding ring since the last time she’d seen him.

“How’s Neptune?” asked Blake.

“Dumb and gorgeous as always.” Sun wound an arm through hers and led her further up the street, balancing her pack carefully. “Ferry was good? Of course it was, there’s no better view in the world. Come on, let’s drop your pack and show you around. Signal isn’t anything like Vale, of course, but they have the _best_ little shops and there’s a new brewery just opened and a good party circuit in town…”

“Sun.” Blake could feel her heart-rate rising in time to his words, knew her breath was getting ragged. “Thanks. I really just want to rest for a while.”

“But…”

“Sun.” She winced at his open disappointment. “There’ll be time. For all this. I just…I need to take it slowly.”

He sighed. “Fine. But you can’t just sit in a dark room long enough to turn into a mushroom.”

**

A mushroom’s lifestyle was starting to sound good, Blake thought.

She’d spent the first day in Sun and Neptune’s guest room trying to sleep in between Sun’s cheerful shouting and Neptune’s occasional high-pitched giggles. Early on the morning of the second day she’d taken her cup of tea and gone for a short walk, looking out towards the harbor. The morning mist obscured most of the boats below, with only the tops of the sailing masts visible over the grey harbor. The low buildings of the city hummed with people rising for the day, and as the sidewalks began to fill she retreated to Sun & Neptune’s apartment and her book.

Sun had a party the second night. Blake avoided it by hiding in her room, stuffing one set of ears with headphones and the other set with cotton.

Sun would have let Blake crash as long as she wanted, but Blake knew she needed out.

Between her savings and the extra cash Ilia had slipped her before she left, she had just enough to pay first and last month’s rent on a tiny furnished apartment on the top floor of the converted fish processing plant. It was more noisy than she wanted during the day, and the place smelled slightly of mildew - but it was hers, hers alone, with a door she could lock. She ate a small takeout meal in the kitchen and listened to the seagulls cry.

The next morning, Blake took her courage in both hands, went to the bookstore and asked for a job. They turned her down with some regret, Blake thought. The manager, an elderly man with stringy hair and a permanent squint, looked at Blake with the dopey smile of the casually smitten. To keep Blake in the shop a few more minutes, the manager pointed out some job listings in the Signal Journal and offered her a 10% “friends and family” discount on anything in the store. Blake smiled politely as she left.

Blake poked through a few more tourist shops and restaurants but no one seemed to need any extra staff. It was getting late in the season, one manager told her. Winters on Patch were cold, wet, snowy. The tourist trade would wind down in the fall.

As she emerged from her latest disappointment, Blake was startled by a group zipping by on what had to be a tour of the island. Two of them were on small 50 cc scooters with large wire baskets. The remainder were in tiny plastic two-seat contraptions, each with an orange flag mounted on a tall mast for visibility. All the riders were wearing oversized red helmets and goofy grins.

Blake paused for a moment of helpless giggling, then went to find the scooter rental shop.

After she’d asked two people for directions, she found it easily enough, higher on the hill with a view of the water. “Shop” seemed like an overstatement: it was, in truth, a parking lot with a small wooden shack and a tent used for repairs and maintenance.

A teenage boy came up to Blake with a friendly smile. “Any interest in taking a ride?”

“No, thanks. I was wondering if I could talk to the manager for a minute?”

The boy nodded, walked back towards the tent, returned a few moments later. “She’s working on a bike at the moment. She’ll be with you in just a second.”

“Thanks.”

A ferry whistle sounded. Blake turned and looked out at the harbor. The ferry slowly maneuvered away from the dock, kayaks and small boats hurrying out of its way as it built up speed. Passengers emerged awkwardly from a seaplane tied up at a small dock at the harbour’s edge. A small boat, little more than a dinghy with a motor, zipped towards a little island across the harbor, barely big enough for a few homes.

“Hey, can I help you?” The voice was friendly enough, laced with enthusiasm, but controlled.

Blake turned around and blinked. Twice.

The woman was about her age, even taller than Blake, with a lion’s mane of blonde hair flowing over broad shoulders. Her lilac eyes held a hint of mischief and fire. Her body language was all strength and warmth, an energy that powered Blake into straightening her posture and smiling for what felt like the first time in years.

“Um,” Blake said. “Hi.”

The woman took a long moment to look Blake over. Blake wondered what she saw.

“Wow,” said the woman. Then, recovering a bit, she added “Hey. I’m Yang. Did you need something?”

“I um. I just got to the island and…”

“Did you need a tour? We just sent the last big group out, but we can arrange solos as well. Or I can…”

“No! No, you’re kind, thanks, but um. I’d love a tour, really I would, but I need to… I’m new to the island, you see, and I was hoping you might need some…help? Around the shop?”

Yang’s face was a complicated journey. “You’re…you’re new! Living here! On the island! That’s so cool! But, um, I’m so sorry, I don’t have any job openings right now. It’s near the end of the season.”

Blake sighed. “Ok. Thanks.”

“Wait, hold up. I bet we can find you something at least to get you on your feet. What’s your name?”

“I’m Blake.”

“Do you…what kind of work are you looking for?”

“No modelling,” she said, with too much bite to the words. She took a moment for control. “Anything else legal.”

“Do you mind getting your hands dirty?”

“Not at all.”

“Look, I’ve still got a couple hours of work left. The shop closes at six. Can you come back around then? I’ll text a few people. Maybe I can introduce you to somebody who can help. OK?”

Blake was startled by Yang’s intensity. “I’m grateful, truly, but…”

“No buts,” said Yang. She stopped herself, took a breath. “Blake, please. Let me at least try.”

Blake wasn’t used to strangers being effusive and helpful. It scared her. She took a moment of her own to breathe, looking at Yang’s open face, wondering what was behind those beautiful eyes. Wondering why they were so focused on Blake.

“Yeah,” said Blake. “I’ll come back.”

**

She almost didn’t. Blake almost went back to her apartment and hid, far away, away from those bright eyes and dazzling smile and the energy that felt like a sunbeam focused solely on her. It was too much, too soon. It was overwhelming.

But she needed a job.

And she needed new friends.

And she needed to be brave.

**

Blake found herself hiding in a lengthening shadow near the scooter rental shop. Yang noticed her immediately.

“Blake!” shouted Yang, and her voice made it sound like the call of a long lost friend. “I’m all wrapped up. Let’s go get something to eat. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Blake followed her back to the main commercial street, towards an upscale pub. Blake hesitated. “Yang, I’m not…”

Yang understood instantly. “No, this is my treat. Consider it a welcome-to-the-island meal. You can go back to eating ramen later.”

Blake intended to argue some more until the door opened, filling the air with the aroma of grilled salmon and fried cod. Blake found herself salivating. Yang smiled. “Yeah, one meal won’t hurt either of us.”

She sat at a hightop table that seemed to be hers by birthright. Blake tried to stick with water but Yang insisted on buying her a local beer “brewed right here on Patch!” Blake expected a hoppy mess but instead found herself drinking a mild fruit sour tasting of plum and strawberries, with just a hint of lavender. Or was that Yang?

“So,” said Yang. “I really want to ask you about yourself and how you came to the island, but I’m getting the sense that you’re not ready for that yet. How about I tell you a little about myself instead?”

Blake smiled. “I’d like that.”

“I’m an island girl. The Xiao Long family has been here for, what, four generations now. I run the scooter rental place for my dad, among other things. A lot of people on Patch have like two or three jobs, depending on the season and what’s going on.”

“Have you ever lived anywhere else?”

“Off island? Yeah, I went to school in Vale. Even spent a year in Atlas once, but it wasn’t for me. I came back to the island a couple years ago to help my dad out. Been here ever since.”

“You like it here?”

“I love it here. Not always the easiest life, but it’s so beautiful. It’s a small town, everybody knows everybody. We look out for each other. It’s a good place.” Yang raised a half-empty glass to Blake in salute. “Now I need to ask a very important question.”

“…yes?”

“What’s your favorite fish?”

“Tuna,” Blake said instantly.

Yang winced. “Okay, but it’s not native to these waters, so sometimes it’s hard to find the fresh stuff. What’s your favorite _local_ fish?”

“Mm…probably sockeye salmon.”

“Good choice.” Yang turned and shouted to the bar staff, “One fish & chips, one sockeye, please.”

“Learn to use your inside voice, Yang,” someone behind the bar said amiably.

“Unlikely!”

The salmon was heavenly, grilled simply with a hint of maple. “Probably on a plank,” said Yang. The vegetables were Blake’s first since leaving Vale. Even the rice was delicious, with a touch of jasmine and mint. Blake tried not to eat too fast and not to think about how much this meal cost.

“I don’t eat like this every night,” Yang admitted, “but we all give each other local discounts, and it’s fun to treat yourself once in awhile. Besides, you needed a proper welcome dinner.”

“You’re amazing, Yang,” said Blake.

“I’m not done yet.” Yang smiled at someone over Blake’s shoulder.

Blake had heard a pair of high heels approaching but hadn’t paid attention until Yang’s cue. Blake turned in her chair to meet a tiny woman with long white hair and the poise of a ballet dancer, a graceful beauty enhanced rather than marred by a long scar on one cheek. Her clothes were casually elegant, her expression amused.

“You must be the woman Yang wouldn’t stop texting me about,” she said. Blake couldn’t see Yang’s expression behind her but the newcomer showed a quick, wolfish grin. “I’m Weiss. Welcome to Patch.”

“Blake. And…thanks.”

“Yang tells me you’re new to the island and looking for work.”

“Yeah. Yes. To both.”

“I’ve got a couple small business interests on the island,” Weiss said in a casual tone, which Blake interpreted as _I could buy all of Signal if I felt like it_. “One of them is…well, it’s probably not a career for you, but the hours are decent and the pay isn’t too bad. How do you feel about cleaning?”

“…if that’s what I have to do.”

“Oh, this will be more interesting than you think. How do you feel about cleaning boats?”

Blake paused. “Outside or inside?”

“Inside. I run a detailing service that specializes in yachts and other pleasure boats. The clients are jerks, but they’re used to paying outrageous money and you’ll hardly ever have to talk to any of them. We don’t do engine compartments—“ Weiss shuddered delicately. Yang looked amused. “—or anything else involving oil, grease or what have you. Strictly living quarters. Think you can handle it?”

Blake thought about it. “It’s a place to start.”

“I like you already.”

**

They said goodbye in front of the pub.

“Yang,” said Blake, “I can’t thank you enough. For everything. The food, the connection to Weiss…”

“It was my pleasure,” said Yang. “Truly.”

“I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You can pay it forward,” Yang replied easily. “That’s what we do around here. But there’s maybe one thing you could do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I have your number?”

**

Yang Xiao Long was often accused of having no chill. This was manifestly unfair.

She did _not_ text Blake that night after she returned to her house.

She texted Weiss instead.

**ICE QUEEN**

remember, u have to send me Blake’s last name

when she fills out the employee paperwork

Dear gods, you unbelievable gay disaster.

Ask her yourself.

I already did

the contact she gave me says “Blake Belladonna”

she has to have made that up

it’s too perfect

You have absolutely lost your shit.

Get a hold of yourself, please.

You have known this woman for eight hours.

Admit it, u liked her

That’s not the point.

And don’t text her constantly while she’s on

shift. I need her to work, not listen to your

fumbling attempts at flirting.

fumbling

FUMBLING

which of us used the phrase “I find your extreme

competence sexually attractive” IN PUBLIC

AT A PARTY

I wasn’t lying. Pyrrha is extremely competent.

Good night, Yang. Please try not to embarrass

yourself.

oh don’t worry I intend to

Wait.

night!


	2. Tour

Yang made it a whole 24 hours. (Besides, it was a busy day at the scooter rental shop, with blue skies and a breeze beckoning island explorers. And the damned battery lead on scooter #17 kept disconnecting, _again_ , despite being wired into place three times over. One more time and she was going to break out the soldering iron, she swore.)

**Blake Belladonna**

did u and Weiss get set up OK?

Yes

They’re running the background check now

Insurance thing, she said it wouldn’t take long

Thank you again for introducing us

ooh a background check on the mysterious lady

what secrets will it find

I’ve still got one of my middle school library books

GASP

The fine is probably enough to buy a new building

for the school

I’m sure you’ll build them a very nice library

The best in Menagerie

is that where you’re from?

Yes

Blake background, yay

Anyway do u start tomorrow?

Friday I think

If you’re not busy tomorrow want to

come out for a private tour?

Weather is supposed to be decent

I can show u a bit of the island

No charge

That depends

?

Do I have to wear one of the dorky helmets?

no I keep better ones in the back

OK I’m in

“Hey Rubes,” Yang told her sister, sprawled on the nearby couch, “I need to borrow your helmet tomorrow.”

“My motorcycle helmet?”

“Not your real one, the little one you use for the scooters.”

“Oh. Sure. What for?”

“Blake is too embarrassed to be seen in one of the tourist hats.”

Ruby put down her comic book to scowl at Yang. “Oh my _gods_ , Yang, it hasn’t even been _two days_.”

“‘Gotta work with a purpose,’” Yang said, quoting their father.

“I _so_ do not need to know about your _purpose_ with Blake.”

“She’s new to the island and I’m showing her around,” Yang said with dignity.

Ruby returned to her reading. Without looking up, she added “Just…don’t overwhelm her, okay?”

“I won’t,” said Yang. “I don’t want to fuck this up,” she added, and maybe that statement was a little too much truth, because Ruby looked up again, compassion in her silver eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” said Ruby. “Just let her breathe.”

“You are absolutely right, and I might eventually forgive you for it.”

**

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” said Oscar.

“I know you will. You’ve been doing great all summer. Just remember, if anyone comes in with a repair, put the scooter in the tent and take it off the reserve list, and…”

“Yang. I’ll handle it,” Oscar repeated.

He would, she knew. Her nerves had nothing to do with Oscar.

“Yang?” asked a soft voice.

Yep, that would be her nerves.

Yang turned with a wide smile. Blake had shown up today in jeans and a purple fleece that somehow turned her into a cuddly teddy bear that Yang wanted to snuggle with for the next year.Blake’s golden eyes still held her wariness, but she smiled helplessly at Yang’s enthusiasm. “Blake! I’m so glad you could make it! Ready for some adventure? Ever ridden a scooter before?”

Blake’s expression closed again. “A little. When I still lived in Vale.”

Yang pivoted, turned aside Blake’s unspoken memory like she’d redirect an attack. “No worries. It’s simple.” Yang ran through her usual checkout routine: throttle, brakes, lights, signals, horn. She insisted on tooting the horn to demonstrate, earning her a mild look from Oscar that she ignored.

Yang watched Blake while she talked. Blake didn’t have the half-listening look of many of her customers: she was paying attention, interested but not worried. Grounded. The _depths_ of this woman. She looked like a model but moved like a flyweight, one who relied on speed and dexterity rather than raw striking power. Utterly still one moment, a small economical movement the next, never losing poise or balance.

That said, Blake didn’t have the stance of a trained fighter. She held herself like someone who wanted to be invisible. And she was slightly favoring her left side.

Yang closed off her increasingly dark thoughts. “Ready to try this out? I’ll give you the tour. Let me grab some helmets.” Thank the gods she’d remembered to steal Ruby’s.

They set out along Crow Valley Road, heading through the interior farmland towards Coast Road and the south end of the island. Yang kept an eye on Blake in the rearview mirror, but she followed easily, enjoying herself but avoiding the wandering attention that often sent scooter riders into a ditch.

They paused for a moment at Glinda’s place, where Blake looked in wonder at the mini-Stonehenge Glinda had put up in her front field a few years back. “I have literally no idea where she got the stones,” said Yang. “It wasn’t from the local quarry. Wrong kind of rock. She must have had them shipped here. Can you even imagine the charges for the ferry? Bringing rocks to a rock, I never did understand that.”

“Did she get a team of guys with ropes to set the stones in place?”

“No, they used a crane. Apparently modern tools are fine as long as the magical alignment ends up in the right place.” Yang laughed.

As they approached the south end of the island the road moved close to the shoreline, looking down on the rocky shoals from high up on the ridge. The area was covered in tall grass, with few trees to be seen. As the road turned inland again, they pulled over at the lookout. Yang pointed out a few foxes hiding in the grasslands to their west. “They’ve gotten too tame,” she told Blake. “Last summer we had to get volunteers to stand out here all day to keep the tourists from feeding them. We almost had to do the same this year, but the population is a lot lower. We think the eagles have been getting to them.”

Blake, it turned out, had never heard an eagle cry before. She took off her helmet to hear better, extending her ears as far as they would go. They waited a few minutes in silence before Yang raised an excited hand: a high-pitched trill echoed in the distance, an oddly delicate sound from an apex predator.

“No trees?” Blake wondered. “Was this farmland at some point?”

Yang chuckled. “I think a couple farmers tried early on, but they gave it up quick. In the winter storm season this part of the island has at least 20 knots of wind all day and all night. Way too harsh for most plants, or people for that matter.”

They looped around towards the western side of the island. Yang quietly hoped for an orca sighting, though she hadn’t dared get Blake’s hopes up. Sadly, it looked like the local pod was off doing whale things somewhere else. Another day.

The scooters slowed a bit as they approached the slopes of Turtleback Mountain. Yang was _not_ taking Blake to visit her mom so soon, so they stayed in the forest on the hill’s southern edge, looping through endless pine trees with soft needles lining the road.

Yang called a halt near one of the farms on the northeastern side of the island and waited for Blake to notice why: Mona the Camel was out, nibbling placidly on some oat mix.

“What in the world?” Blake said, startled and laughing.

“I’ve heard at least three stories of how the island ended up with a camel. Most of them involve a failed circus. Anyway, this is Mona.”

“She’s amazing. Why Mona?”

“Well…she moans a lot.”

Yang held her face as still as she could. Blake looked at her with a knowing smile. “Really.”

“Really. The neighbours used to complain. Bored camels tend to moan and groan loudly. It’s how they let you know they’re bored.”

“Moaning so loud it keeps the neighbors up.”

“Yep.”

“Very impressive.”

“We all thought so.”

Blake looked Yang directly in the eyes, and for just a moment her smile shone like a polished knife. “I can’t _imagine_ what that’s like,” she said, and Yang nearly expired on the spot.

Yang planned a stop at the ice cream store on the north side of Signal, but Blake explained she was lactose intolerant. Instead, they rode the scooters a bit further into town, stopping at a tea shop. Yang knew she’d guessed right when Blake spent fifteen minutes choosing the tea she wanted. She ended up with a green tea that looked delicate and smelled of rich herbs and wind through grass. Yang smiled and drank her iced tea with lemon.

Blake looked windblown and a bit tired and immensely pleased with herself. Her cat ears, hidden flat all day by the helmet, twitched in the open air.

“Patch really is a beautiful place.”

“It’s almost uncanny,” Yang agreed. “Mind you, our winters can be a grind. But in the summer, there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.”

“My friend Sun says the same thing. He doesn’t stay here during the winter, but this is his third summer working here.”

“Oh, Sun Wukong? Married to Neptune? Yeah, he’s a good dude.”

Blake shook her head in wonder. “You really do know everyone on the island.”

“It’s not that big an island,” Yang said gently. “You kinda do meet everybody here after a while.” She smiled. “That’s why your arrival was such an event.”

Blake blushed slightly, a darker hue emerging on her cheeks. “Flatterer.”

Yang debated with herself, but decided it was a safe question: “How do you know Sun?”

“We went to school together. Dated very briefly.”

“You two dated? He’s only had eyes for Neptune since I’ve known him.”

“He’s bi.” Blake smiled a bit. “Like me.”

 _Thank all the gods. Thank you each and every one. Thank you._ Yang trusted her instincts but felt a sudden urge to prostrate herself in gratitude towards a generous cosmos. She swallowed half a glass of iced tea instead.

“Sun says there aren’t too many Faunus here,” said Blake.

“There aren’t, it’s true. Nobody has bothered him, have they?”

“Not that I’ve heard. He says there are a few anti-Faunus jerks on the island, but they’ve left him alone.”

“If anyone does give him shit, tell him to send them to me,” Yang said lightly, only allowing the directness of her gaze to hint at how serious she was.

Blake’s smile was gentle. “He can take care of himself, but it’s sweet of you. I’ll let him know.”

“Right. You know we’re not just talking about Sun anymore, right?”

Blake looked at Yang with real affection. “I know. Thank you.” That steel core again: “I’ll be okay.” She smiled. “I’m already happier here.”

About ten thousand questions jammed up in Yang’s throat. She settled for saying, “Good.”

Blake leaned forward, wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. “You’ve been so generous, and so patient, even just the short time I’ve known you. I’m grateful. I’m…working through some stuff. So much has changed in my life, it’s hard to know where to begin.” She paused. “I just want to think about what’s next.”

Yang said, with all her heart, “I’m so glad what’s next for you is here.”

Blake looked at her steadily. “I think I am too.”

**

They returned the scooters. Blake gave back her borrowed helmet.

“We really ought to get you something custom that fits your head properly,” said Yang.

“You mean my ears.”

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll be going out on island tours _that_ often, Yang,” said Blake, smiling.

“Blasphemer! There’s _lots_ more to see on the island. This was just a taste to whet your appetite.”

“You’re good at that, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Whetting my appetite.” Blake reached out and captured both Yang’s hands in her own. “Thank you. Today was amazing. Again.”

Yang was _holding Blake’s hands_ and _looking in her eyes_ and somehow forgot how words worked. The world stopped spinning for a moment.

Blake squeezed her hands gently. “I’m betting you’re a coffee girl.”

“I…” said Yang. “Yes. Coffee. Yes, I really am. A coffee girl. I like coffee.”

“Can we get some Friday morning? I don’t start work until 9:30.”

“It’s a date,” Yang said, and immediately felt all the blood in her body rush to her face.

“Good,” said Blake.


	3. Brass

Blake woke up and found herself bolt upright. She bit down hard on a scream.

It was one of _those_ dreams. _Red dreams_ , she called them. Impressionistic flash bulbs; a smooth, angry voice; blood cascading over her hand, dripping down her side. Pain.

Instinctively her hand touched her scar: long healed, barely visible really. Hard ridges in soft skin. She looked around the room, counted objects: one dresser, one side table, five books, one window with four panes, one water glass. Slowly her heart rate crept back to normal.

It seemed unfair that the dreams followed her to Patch. She was here to start over. She’d hoped to leave the nightmares behind too. The memories, at least, those she could push back, keep at a safe distance. Over the water and far away.

**

Yang Xiao Long was, as usual, adorable.

Apparently, Yang was not a morning person. She clutched her coffee like it was all the warmth in the world, inhaled the aroma like it was her first breath of oxygen. Only after she’d consumed half a cup did her eyes and attention focus.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

“I slept fine,” Blake lied. She wondered how much longer she’d be able to get away with that. “You look like you could use another hour though.”

“I’ll be fine once I get moving. Thrashed myself a bit during my workout last night.”

“Are you training for something?”

“Not anymore, thank the gods. Just trying to stay in shape. My dad likes to kick my ass from time to time.”

Blake’s eyes widened in worry. Yang burst out laughing. “No, no! I didn’t mean literally! My dad is a sweetheart. He’s retired military and spent a lot of time doing combat instruction, so he’s got _opinions_ about physical training. He keeps me honest.”

“He doesn’t make you get up at 5:30 AM to do laps?”

“I mean, he’s tried. I had to point out to him that I wasn’t one of his recruits. We’ve compromised. He can do his own damn morning 5K.”

“I’m a little surprised he’s still got the knees for that.”

“They’re kinda knobby. I guess there’s nothing left to wear down or tear off.”

Yang’s smile was dazzling, even after a few days to get used to it. Blake felt like a flower in the morning light, basking in the sun. Yang radiated warmth and kindness, and Blake felt herself melting.

They chatted about nothing until Blake had to pull herself away for work. It felt like everything.

**YANG**

I have never polished so much brass in my life

yacht culture yay

Do they think the brass makes it look more expensive

when brass tacks become tacky brass

Seriously?

ᕙ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ

Sun and Neptune invited Blake over to their rental house Sunday afternoon to say hi. When Blake arrived, she found them playing badminton in the front yard. She nearly collapsed in giggles.

“What? It’s a fun game!” Neptune shouted.

“Are you _ten years old?_ ”

“Get Sun to hold the racquet in his tail. It makes his serve hilarious.”

She helped herself to one of Neptune’s vodka seltzers while they finished their set. Sun was shirtless as usual while Neptune was wearing a muscle t-shirt that would have looked better on someone with broader shoulders. The eye candy was still fun.

“I don’t know how you two keep your body fat below 15 percent,” Blake said.

“Low carb diet, babe,” said Sun, shrugging into an open shirt.

“You know that’s mostly crap, right?”

“Oh good, now I can drink more beer.”

“Anyway,” Neptune said, “how’s the new place?”

“More importantly, how’s Yang?” Sun asked.

Blake blinked. “She’s…wait, what?”

“Neptune saw you two making eyes at each other in the coffee shop the other day. I hadn’t realized you’d met already.”

“We were not _making eyes_ at each other, gods. Yang is a nice person. She helped hook me up with a job. Detailing boats, would you believe.”

Sun’s head tilted to one side as he looked at her. “Okay, we’re going to explore that, but quit trying to change the subject. You’re not dating Yang Xiao Long?”

“No! I mean…no! We just met!”

Neptune looked at Sun. “The lady doth protest a lot, methinks.”

“Wethinks,” Sun agreed.

“I hate you both. We are not dating. We’re friends. We just met. In fact, we barely know each other at all.”

Neptune and Sun looked at each other and clasped their hands. _“Strangers in the night…”_ sang Neptune. “… _exchanging fluids…”_ the boys chorused together.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.”

“Well, yes, isn’t that kind of the point?” Sun asked with an arched eyebrow.

“This is so inappropriate. Just because somebody is nice to you doesn’t mean they want to sleep with you. Yang is worth more than a one-night stand,” Blake said, and clamped her mouth shut.

“I’ve never really heard about Yang doing one-night stands,” mused Neptune. “Or multi-night stands, for that matter. She’s friendly with everybody but just kinda does her solo thing.”

Before Blake could finish processing that knowledge, Sun added, “So you’re bringing Yang to the party next Saturday, right?”

“OK, no, and also…what?”

“Only two weeks left before Labor Day. Summer is disappearing. The time for parties is at hand!”

“Sun, you think the time for parties is at hand no matter what season it is. And you know I’m not a party person.”

“Yeah, but Yang is. And you’ll enjoy it if she’s there.”

Blake wasn’t sure which she detested more: the absolute certainty in Sun’s voice, or the fact that he was probably right. She drank her seltzer and sulked.

“Blake,” said Sun, and his voice was gentle. “It’s OK to spend time with people you like. Or even people you might like.” He and Neptune traded a warm smile, still holding hands.

“…I don’t even know how I’d ask,” she admitted.

“With words?” Neptune tried. Blake favored him with a blistering glare.

“It’s not a marriage proposal,” said Sun. “It’s a fun night out where you’ll already know some people at the party. Tell Yang to bring her squad along if it makes you feel better. No, wait, now you’re imagining other people drawing Yang’s attention all night and stressing again. Damn it, Blake.”

Blake held her head in her hands. “I hate you so, so much.”

“I know, but we love you dearly,” said Sun.

“I’ll… _think_ about it.”

“All I ask.”

**

Early that evening, after Blake failed to read the same page five times in a row, she threw her book across the room and went for a run.

Patch was far enough north that even a couple months after the solstice, daylight still lingered long into the evening. Blake headed up Signal’s hill, away from the water, jogging through neighborhoods of craftsman houses, mobile homes, and occasional light industrial buildings. A few people sat out on porches or in front yards, watching the world rotate. Kids ran around the playground equipment at a school.

Blake idly read the signs at a construction site as she passed. ANOTHER QUALITY SALEM DEVELOPMENT, read the top sign. _NO TRESPASSING. Opening this winter!_ It was good to see that Signal was growing. Tourism-based economies could be fragile, she’d read.

Signal had its own teaching college, a small campus near the outskirts of town, near the airport. Blake ran around the perimeter road of the college, watching a small plane or two arrive and depart on the nearby landing strip. The airport seemed to be mostly private traffic, tiny planes with noisy propeller engines. In all, she thought, she’d rather be on a seaplane if she had to listen to that racket.

She looped back around and headed back into town. For fun she ran by Sun and Neptune’s place. Sure enough, loud music and a faint odour of weed followed her as she passed. She shook her head and smiled. They were nothing if not consistent.

Blake got back to her apartment and found a pile of texts waiting for her.

**YANG**

hey so funny story

my sister Ruby was off island this weekend and

stopped at one of those u-pick blueberry places

she got a little enthusiastic about it

we now have enough blueberries to start a fruit stand

almost literally

Ruby is making blueberry tarts tonight

Want one? good 4 breakfast or dessert

I’d love one, thank you both

cool cool

also

Sun Wukong texted me out of the blue today

oh SHIT

apparently he’s got an open house on Saturday eve

wanted to be sure I knew this

…can I call you?

“I’m really sorry,” said Blake for the fourth time. Some calculating part of her brain was working out an untraceable murder. Burial at sea was involved.

“Don’t be, it’s hilarious! I like Sun. I was just surprised. I hadn’t heard from him in a while. We don’t always run in the same social circle.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, wretchedly.

“Were you planning to go?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Would you like to go?”

 _I’d like to go anywhere with you,_ Blake almost said, and bit the inside of her cheek. “I’d…” _go if you’re going,_ “…be a little nervous about it, but it could be fun.”

“Why nervous?”

“I’m not much a party person. And I don’t know anyone there but Sun and Neptune.”

“If I went, you’d know me.”

“I would, but…you’ve got your own friends and social life, I don’t want to be a burden, it’s not fair to you and…”

Yang interrupted Blake’s nervous babble with the gentlest voice Blake had yet heard from her: “Blake, can we go to Sun’s party? I’d love to go with you.” She gave the last two words the faintest emphasis.

Blake’s heart seemed to be turning to vapour. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.” And in a smaller voice, “I’d like that.”

“And we’ll only stay as long as you’re comfortable. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

“…thanks, Yang.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I still have some tarts to drop off.”

**

Blake briefly entertained a wild fantasy of Yang coming over _that very night_ to drop off the tarts, and since she’d come all that way _nothing would do_ but that Yang come in for tea, and _who knew_ what might happen after that.

They settled on a pastry handoff at the coffee shop the next day. Blake’s breathing grew easier as her disappointment settled into her chest.

**

“Did Weiss tell you she owns the coffee shop?” Yang asked.

They sat together at a table with a view of the harbour, looking out at the boats. Ruby’s tarts rested in a small bag at Blake’s feet. The espresso machine hissed and groaned behind them.

“No,” said Blake, “but somehow I’m not surprised. I wonder if I could get a discount.”

“Heh. Stay on island long enough and you’ll qualify for the local’s discount we all get. It’s only the tourists we overcharge.” A nearby middle-aged man in a trucker hat bristled slightly.

“Can I ask where Weiss’ money comes from?”

“Family money. I guess in granddad’s day it was mostly honest business stuff, but her dad is a human trashfire. He got tossed into minimum security prison for not paying off the right people, among other things,” Yang explained. “He’s broke. His creditors took everything. Weiss knew her dad, saw it coming a mile away. She had her own money tied up in a separate trust before the hammer fell. On paper she’s now way richer than daddy is. She’s been trying to invest in the island, where it makes sense. The coffee shop was a dream of one of her friends. Weiss funded it and set them up as manager.”

“Wow. What happened with Weiss’ dad?”

“Still in jail. He’s getting out next year. Nobody’s looking forward to it, but Weiss already has the lawyers lined up and an open restraining order. Also, lots of friends.” Yang squared up her shoulders and nodded like she’d signed a contract.

“Did you two grow up together?”

“We kinda did. Her mom...wasn’t helpful, so Weiss basically lived at our house for a few years when we were teenagers. She can be a real pain in the ass, but she’ll always have your back. I’d kill for Weiss Schnee.”

“I’m amazed a family like that would settle in a quiet place like Patch.”

Yang laughed. “You’d be surprised. We have some _serious_ money on this island. Who do you think owns all those boats you’re polishing? Sometimes it’s people who’ve retired here, other times it’s people with ‘vacation homes’ that are little mini palaces. Weiss lived her teenage years here because her mom didn’t want to live in Atlas with her father.”

Reminded, Blake looked at her phone. “Shit. I have to go polish rich people’s boats now.”

“Text me when you can,” said Yang.

“Tell Ruby thank you.” Blake held up the bag of blueberry tarts.

“Don’t eat them all at once!”

**

Lunch was a blueberry tart.

Dinner was two blueberry tarts and a yogurt.

Ruby, it seemed, was really good at baking.

**

On Tuesday Blake started to worry about what she was going to wear on Saturday.

On Wednesday Blake came within a hair’s-breadth of panic-texting Yang to beg out of the party. Instead, Blake drank her tea and read a book about intrepid adventurers with a guaranteed happy ending.

On Thursday Yang sent Blake a series of selfies in various outfits with the caption _Help me choose_. The outfits ranged from casual sweats to a dark cocktail dress with golden accents and a deep plunging neckline. Blake took a moment, or possibly two, then suggested the sport-jacket-over-ripped-t-shirt look was a good compromise.

On Friday Blake looked over her meagre belongings and realized there was only one outfit to choose. As long as she didn’t have to model it, she thought, she’d be fine.

**

Blake had lost a little weight. The black leather jacket was a little loose on her. Her metallic yellow t-shirt worked well enough, bringing out her golden eyes. The skinny jeans still fit, even after months of a normal diet. The gold buckles on her fitted boots completed the accents.

Putting on a full face of makeup felt like a mask.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. For a moment she saw nothing but Blake: weakened, wary, camera-shy, wearing clothes she hadn’t worn in almost a year like a child playing dress-up.

Then for just a moment, the old instincts took over. She straightened, subtly moved one of her shoulders back, raised the crown of her head as far as she could, angled her chest, cocked a heel just so. Presence. Attitude. A hint of pout.

An untouchable warrior queen stared back at her.

“Yang is going to love this,” she whispered.

**

Yang looked as casually beautiful as any woman Blake had ever seen, at least until her jaw fell to her chest.

“We’re going to _slay_ this party,” said Yang, and Blake agreed with every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake's party outfit was inspired by https://mutedrop.tumblr.com/post/640969896137801728/cant-stop-drawing-blake-in-leather. 
> 
> Yang's party outfit is a humble shout-out to @kienava's "Crash Landing," https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688783/chapters/44321944.


	4. Connections

Their entrance to the backyard party was all that Yang could have wished for. Blake looked _stunning_ , like an avatar of a cat goddess incarnate, carrying secrets unknown to mere mortals. Yang made a decent acolyte, with a jacket of style and sophistication, ripped t-shirt hinting at the well-earned battle scars beneath. Neptune dropped dramatically to the ground at the sight of the two of them, pretending to clutch at his overstressed heart.

“Dear _gods_ , Yang,” cried Nora, “where did you find _her?_ Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

“Shut up and be nice. This is Blake, and she just moved to Signal. Don’t scare her off.” She looked at Blake. “Actually, do you have any brothers or sisters? I hadn’t asked.”

Blake smiled. “Nope, just me.”

“That’s okay. Nora talks a good game, but she’s been married to Ren since she was six years old.”

“I was seven,” said the little redhead. “He’d just turned eight. Sonofabitch refused my _repeated_ proposals for fifteen years. I finally got him stoned and dragged him to a bridal chapel to make an honest woman out of me.”

“That didn’t happen either.”

“I know, but it’s a better story. Blake, you look amazing. Can I get you something?”

“You can _not_ ,” interrupted Yang. “Save your jungle juice for some other innocent victim. Where’s Ren?”

“He’s around, but Coco’s mixing the drinks at the moment.”

“I’ll accept that.”

Coco Adel welcomed Blake’s introduction with no more than a raised eyebrow behind her tinted glasses. Yang expected they’d be trading fashion and makeup tips by the end of the evening. Coco poured two mojitos. Blake tasted hers cautiously and looked surprised.

“Coco is the bar manager at Downriggers,” Yang explained. Blake nodded and saluted her with her plastic cup. “I hope you’re not going to be stuck behind the bar all night,” Blake told Coco.

“Sun and Neptune would need to pay me for that,” Coco said, smiling. “I’m just getting things rolling.”

“Amazing. And your beret really suits you. Not a lot of people can pull that off.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

“Down, girl.” Yang laughed.

“What, you’ve got exclusive rights already? What a shame. When you get bored with her, Blake…”

“…aaaaaand I just remembered we haven’t found Sun yet, see ya!” Yang said, making a show of dragging a laughing Blake away. Coco pretended to pout and waved cheerfully at the two of them.

Sure enough, Sun wandered by, munching on a banana. Idly, he offered the last quarter of it to Blake. “Here, you need this.”

“Why?” Blake asked. “So I can slip on something uncomfortable?”

Both Sun and Yang choked. “Okay, I deserved that,” said Sun. He opened his arms in invitation, and Blake accepted a side-hug. “I’m so glad you came. You look amazing.”

Blake had a steady stream of admirers, all of them complimenting her appearance, all wanting to know more about her. Yang provided introductions and a few quiet side comments that left Blake snickering. Blake was gracious and kind and deflected almost every question anyone asked of her by being genuinely interested in their own stories. It was quite a trick, one Yang noted for future reference.

A young woman Yang didn’t know named Emerald seemed especially fascinated with Blake’s current job. Apparently, she too worked around the big yachts. They traded stories of over-the-top cabin decorations and terrible artistic taste until Blake was laughing aloud with delight.

Later, Velvet Scarlatina joined the crowd surrounding Blake. Yang smiled at the cute Faunus but was puzzled by Blake’s reaction. Blake stumbled over her next two sentences, her equable calm disrupted, the latent wariness coming to the fore. The muscles in her neck stood out in high relief. She tried to hard to focus on her conversation with Yatsu, who was clearly mystified.

Yang was equally puzzled. Velvet was a sweetheart, about as visually threatening as a soft pillow. It took another moment for realization to dawn: Velvet was, as always, wearing her camera around her neck. Yang remembered Blake’s antipathy to _modeling_ , mentally kicked herself, and took Velvet aside for a quiet word. When Velvet re-emerged, her camera had been safely stowed somewhere. Blake visibly relaxed.

Curious. Also worrying.

Later, at a lull, Yang murmured to Blake, “Before we leave, we should say hi to Fox Alistair.” She nodded at a dark-skinned, lithe man with a thin white cane, perched on a chair and chatting with Coco. “He told me once it bothers him that he can’t easily tell who’s in a crowded room.”

“Makes sense,” Blake said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s also half bullshit. Fox always knows way more about what’s going on around him than he lets on.”

“Even more reason to say hi.”

Introductions handled, Fox turned to Blake, amused. “Your reputation precedes you, Blake. I think you’re going to make Coco step up her fashion game.”

“Coco looks marvellous,” Blake said.

“I’m sure she does, but Coco is also competitive.”

Coco sniffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Those heels you’re wearing are the ones you bought specifically because they were half an inch longer than the ones Weiss wore to the Christmas festival last year,” Yang pointed out.

“No, I bought these so I could stab impertinent people in the foot.”

“Right.”

“Blake, did I hear you’re a bit of a reader?” Fox asked.

Blake smiled. “That’s kind of an understatement.”

“Has Yang or anyone else shown you the Signal library yet?”

The awkward silence lasted for about three seconds too long. “Well, now I feel stupid,” said Yang.

“I wasn’t sure Signal was big enough to have a library,” admitted Blake.

“It’s the best. The in-house book collection is small compared to a big city library, but they can and do order stuff from all over, and their digital collection is brilliant. The staff is super helpful.”

“Do you…spend much time there?” Blake asked, surprised.

Fox laughed. “I’m their digital curator. So, I might be a little biased.”

“It’s on the list for next week, I promise.”

“Outstanding. Hit me up if you need anything. I can always find somebody to search the shelves for you.”

Nearby, Sun bellowed, “B-52 bombing run! Pilots, assemble!”

Blake turned to Yang. “If we’ve reached the shots part of the evening, I think I’m going to tap out.”

“I’ll come with you,” Yang promised.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” Blake told Fox and Coco.

“We’ll see you again,” said Coco.

“Welcome to Patch,” said Fox, smiling.

**

They held hands on the walk back to Blake’s apartment. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I hadn’t seen most of that crew in a while,” said Yang.

“They were sweet. Sun and Neptune have good friends.”

“It’s kind of a mix of summer crowd and full-timers. Nora, Ren, Coco and Fox all live here year-round. Yatsu, Sage, Velvet, some of the others work summer jobs then move on once we get to the off-season.”

“Do they come back every year, like Sun and Neptune?”

“Many do. I think this is Yatsu’s fifth or sixth summer here.”

They paused at a lookout, a tiny pocket park with a grand view of the harbor below. Many of the tall sailboats had lights twinkling in their masts, and the docks glowed amber under their own lighting. A gentle breeze stirred the water. They could hear the metallic clanging of the lines banging against the sailboat masts.

Blake leaned into Yang. “You’ve been such a good friend.”

Yang held her close and, for once in her life, said nothing. It took heroic restraint. She wanted a medal.

“I…won’t lie, I want more,” Blake continued, and Yang’s heart stopped. “I hope you do too.”

“Dear _gods_ yes.”

“I’m trying to take this slow. I need to take this slow. I’m not…I wasn’t lying when I said I was working through some stuff. I’m not a good partner right now. I don’t want to lead you on.”

“Blake, we live on an island. Island time is slow. I’m not in a hurry. I’m more than happy to follow your lead.” Yang realized to her own surprise that she was telling the absolute truth.

“Then…can we go watch a movie together? Nothing more complicated. Just a movie.”

“I’d love to.”

**

Blake’s place was a little run down, but clean. A bare few books lay scattered on side tables. (Yang kicked herself again; how had she not thought of showing Blake the _library_? Just because she was afraid she’d lose Blake in it forever was no reason to deny her happiness.) A faint odour of ginseng and spice wafted from the kitchen.

They took off their jackets and curled up together on the couch under a blanket. Blake found her tablet and fired up a streaming service, finding some romcom she’d seen before. They shared a set of headphones and laughed together at all the right places.

When the credits rolled Blake was half asleep in Yang’s arms. Gently, so as not to disturb her, Yang set aside the tablet. Blake only grumbled a bit as Yang carefully removed Blake’s headphone. Yang kissed the top of Blake’s head, once, lightly, between the ears. Then Yang dozed off herself, braced by couch pillows and the woman she knew next to nothing about, save that Blake felt like a part of Yang she never knew she’d missed.

**

Yang woke in the middle of the night holding back a scream.

She’d been sleeping at an odd angle, putting too much weight on her bad right arm. It _throbbed,_ numbness giving way to invisible teeth sinking deeply into her bicep.

Worse still, she’d woken Blake. “Yang,” she said sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

“Old injury,” Yang said through gritted teeth.

Blake’s golden eyes glinted in the darkness as they opened wide. “Oh, Yang, I’m so sorry, I never should have…”

“No! No, Blake, this is fine, I’ve never been happier. Just…need to shake it out a bit…” and she freed her arm to rotate it, run through her isometrics _again_. Her back brain cursed.

Blake captured her arm, ran her fingertips along it to check for damage. Yang would have been thrilled if she’d been able to feel it properly. Blake’s fingers paused at the surgery scars. “What happened?”

“Motorcycle accident, back in college. I got doored and high-sided. Broke my arm in eighteen places.” She rotated it again, practiced her range-of-motion exercise. “I was lucky to keep it at all.”

“I had no idea,” murmured Blake.

“Well, it’s not the _first_ thing I tell people about,” the pain made Yang say. She nearly bit her tongue off. “I’m really sorry, that was mean.”

Blake looked steadily at Yang. “I couldn’t be the generous person you are after something like that,” she said, and touched her finger lightly to Yang’s jaw.

She sat up and rolled off the couch. (Some part of Yang cried in disappointment.) Blake disappeared into the bathroom and returned with some ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Come on,” said Blake, after Yang had dutifully taken her pills. She led Yang by the hand to her bed and lay down next to her, both still fully dressed. “We’ll sleep better in here.”

** 

“Quit giving me that look,” Blake said, gently.

They both still wore last night’s clothes, a bit the worse for wear. Yang had borrowed a brush to get some of the tangles out of her long blonde mane. Blake didn’t have any coffee, so Yang was fortifying herself with an extra strong breakfast tea. She’d get a cup of the real stuff later.

“…what look?” Yang asked.

“That worried I-don’t-know-if-she-still-wants-to-speak-to-me look. You’re a treasure.”

Busted. Yang looked into the depths of her tea. “Even if I wake you up in the middle of the night with stupid shit?”

“ _Yang_.” Blake’s voice was soft, layered with steel. “Your arm is part of you. Literally. I care about all of you, not just the parts that are factory-condition.” Blake gently picked up Yang's right hand. “Is there anything…”

Yang sighed. “This time of year, it’s mostly fine. Winter can be a pain. There’s a lot of metal in there, and it gets sore when it gets cold. Right now, I just need to be careful how much weight I put on it.” She squeezed Blake’s hand. “It’s still pretty strong.”

“Yes,” Blake said seriously. “You are.”

**

Blake softly kissed Yang on the cheek good-bye.

“Next time,” she whispered, “pyjamas,” and Yang laughed aloud.

**

Yang set her shower to hot and warmed up for a while. Then she set the shower to ice cold. Then she did her best to run the hot water heater dry.

Ruby was in the common room playing a video game when Yang emerged in a set of sweats, hair piled up in a towel. She gave Yang a sideways glance. “Slept over, huh?”

“Yeah, but literally. Nothing happened.”

“Never stop telling me that, especially if it’s not true.”

“No, seriously. Something…somebody treated Blake like absolute shit,” she said, and knew she was right. “She’s recovering. We’re taking it slowly.”

“Not that slowly,” said Ruby, but she was smiling as she said it. “When do we get to meet her?”

“Soon. I hope. Maybe. If she doesn’t bail.”

That last comment caught Ruby’s attention. She paused her game, looked Yang in the eye. “She’s not going to bail.”

“She might.”

“Has she given you any sign she wants to?”

“Well…no…”

“Have some faith!”

“It’s just because she doesn’t know me well enough yet,” grumbled Yang, pulling up a chair and grabbing a controller. “Sooner or later, she’ll learn I’m a trash fire.”

“Stop it,” said Ruby. “Your lousy self-esteem can wait. For now, it is time for you to get your ass kicked in Soul Calibur! Prepare yourself.”

“You know I’ve won the last three matches?”

“After five losses,” said Ruby serenely. “With more to come.”


	5. Faith

Days later, Blake was still feeling the warmth of Yang’s arms around her.

It wasn’t always obvious from the clothes that she wore, but Yang was _strong_. Jacked, even. Her biceps and triceps felt like they were made of soft skin over titanium. Being held by Yang was like being held by a lioness, warm and loving and cheerfully ready to take on anyone who bothered her. No wonder she was so confident. Blake had never felt so…safe.

Which made Yang’s lingering injury all the more painful. Did it hurt all the time? Was her right arm weaker than her left? How long did she have to rehab that injury, anyway? What did it cost her? How had she recovered?

So many questions. She could ask, wanted to know, but she knew in fairness she’d have to trade some secrets of her own.

Would that be so horrible, she wondered.

Blake found a used coffee press at the thrift store. She went to the coffee shop and spent a little extra on a small bag of a good dark roast. She tucked both in her tea cabinet, next to the rooibos and the chai.

**

One morning, with just a hint of fall crispness beginning to chill the air near the docks, Blake received her next detailing assignment: the _Winter’s Song,_ in slip 24A _._

The _Winter’s Song_ proved to be a 48-foot powerboat, tall enough to require a staircase from the dock to board, with a master suite and two staterooms plus the common area and the bridge. It wasn’t the largest or newest boat that Blake had worked on, but it was well maintained. Someone had put a real designer’s eye to fitting the boat out, not just filling it with brass and wood paneling.

One of the staterooms was outfitted as a wine cellar. Blake blinked. She’d seen this before, even on one of the yachts she’d recently worked on, but not on a boat this size.

Blake was cleaning the galley when a soft female voice behind her said, “You must be one of Weiss’ people.” Blake nearly hit the ceiling. She bit back an instinctive hiss, took a moment to compose herself. She knew the rules — keep the interactions with clients to a minimum. Head down, eyes down and away.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said politely.

“I haven’t seen you before. You’re far too pretty for that polyester shirt. What’s your name?”

“Blake, ma’am,” she said, continuing to look down and work on the sink.

“Blake. A good name. Androgynous. From the old word ‘ _blacc_ ,’ someone with black hair. I am sure yours is amazing when it’s not tied back. What brings you to Weiss?”

“…ma’am?” Blake had been preparing to brush this stranger off, but her phrasing made Blake pause.

“Weiss collects strays,” she said dreamily, “who turn out to be made of spun gold and raw iron. Little people with large souls. It’s quite a talent. I’ve envied it for years. I can’t imagine where she learned it. Certainly not from her father. Are you a stray kitten, Blake?”

Blake carefully didn’t look directly at her. Instead, she glanced at the reflection in the microwave door in front of Blake, looking over her shoulder. A tall, almost ethereal woman stood there, white hair and white skin, eyes sunken deep in a lined face.

“No, ma’am,” she said.

“I think you just lied. How strange. You strike me as a woman who’s used to hiding behind masks. Did Weiss send you to check on me?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Better. Either she didn’t warn you or your lies are improving. Let me have that glass, my dear. I need some water.”

Blake silently handed her a glass of water. She laughed, faintly. “You’re thinking I’d be more likely to need a wine glass. And you’re right, but even the strongest of us like to mix a little water with our holy water.”

“Ma’am?”

“Miracle workers turn water into wine. There’s the god who filled a river with wine and called it Lethe, to let the souls of the dead drink from it and forget their lives. Wine is the most holy of waters. There is so little holiness in this world. It would be a shame to waste a drop of it on mere thirst.”

Blake finished cleaning the sink, moved on to the refrigerator door. She took another look in the reflection: the older woman had stepped back, courteously enough. She was watching Blake with indifferent eyes, a face like an engraving with endless sadness etched in every line.

“Have you heard of Salem, Blake?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Salem, from an older word _sha’lem_. ‘Whole and complete,’ or maybe ‘peace.’ A curious goal. Peace is the absence of struggle. If something is whole, if struggle is absent, is that not an ending in itself? If Salem is all there is and there is nothing but Salem, nothing else can ever be. Perfection admits nothing but itself.”

Blake cautiously picked up her supplies. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I need to finish upstairs.”

“Of course,” she said. “My apologies, Blake. I do ramble.”

When Blake returned to the boat’s common area the woman was gone. Blake left the _Winter’s Song_ quietly, as one would a cabin full of ghosts.

**YANG**

Whaaaaat the fuck

I just had the weirdest interaction with someone on

one of the boats

I think it was Weiss’ mom

oh gods you met Willow

i’m so sorry

Weiss didn’t tell you about her, did she

i promise Willow is harmless. she can’t hurt a fly

Does she always swoop in from another planet

to patronize people?

pretty much yeah

i’ll tell Weiss she owes you a bonus

No don’t

Yang

Yang please don’t leave me on read

Yang

Ten minutes later an electronic payment arrived with an extra full day’s pay. WITH APOLOGIES, read the note. I OWE YOU A CUP OF TEA AS WELL. -W

Blake sighed. At least Weiss probably had good taste in tea.

**

Yang called later that night. Blake expected to be debriefed on her eventful workday, but Yang had a different topic in mind.

“It’ll be fun,” Yang coaxed.

“ _Bowling_ night?” Blake said.

“What, too lowbrow for you?”

Blake stared at her phone and firmly resolved not to mention the 237 she’d scored one memorable night when she was seventeen. “I just didn’t know there were any bowling alleys left, I guess.”

“Maybe not on the mainland, but we’re proud of ours here. Besides, it’s Glow night. Weird mood lighting! Twenty percent off pizza and beer! Friends! Also me.”

Blake pretended reluctance. “I don’t know, Yang, I think I need a little extra incentive.”

“Okay, what if I get Weiss to come out?”

Blake nearly spit out her tea. “I would _pay_ to see Weiss in bowling shoes.”

“It has happened before,” said Yang, “and it will happen again.”

**

Weiss had _her own_ bowling shoes. And a custom bowling ball, white as snow with flecks that sparkled in the glow lights, carried in a like-new leather case. Blake hid her face in her hands and giggled helplessly for a solid minute. “She also has a towel embroidered with her initials,” Yang whispered, and set Blake right off again.

Nora was there with her partner Ren, a tall man with braided hair and a quiet, focused expression. Blake tried to decide if Ren’s calm was chemically enhanced. Nora’s enthusiasm didn’t need any additives. Her first roll was a two-handed shove down the centre of the lane that achieved a spectacular explosion of pins and a 7-10 split.

Yang’s sister Ruby turned out to be her physical opposite: short, wiry, dark-haired, and silver-eyed, wearing a blood-red t-shirt and black jeans in a near-perfect contrast with Yang’s blonde hair and earth tones. Blake only saw the family resemblance when Ruby smiled. She had Yang’s endless confidence and warmth, wrapped up in a lot more exuberance. And a much higher voice.

“Can I give you a hug?” Ruby asked. When Blake nodded assent, Ruby hurled herself to Blake, wrapped her up and nearly lifted her off her feet with surprising strength. Yang looked startled; Blake spared her a reassuring glance. “Thank you for making my sister happy,” Ruby whispered too quietly for anyone else to hear before she ran off to get a slice of pizza and a soda the size of her head.

Jaune, the final member of the squad, watched the byplay and smiled, clearly fond of Ruby. He was a broad-shouldered, slightly awkward man, with dark blue eyes and an odd haircut. Despite one of the most ungainly delivery motions Blake had ever seen, he was also remarkably good at bowling.

Yang sorted everyone into two lanes. Jaune, Weiss and Ruby had a lane of their own, and it quickly became clear why: they were charming and cheerful when not playing but bowled with demonic intensity of purpose. Everyone else needed regular reminders to quit chatting and play the next frame.

The professionals took a break between games to let the amateurs catch up. Weiss took the opportunity to alight next to Blake. Her smile was quiet but genuine. “How are you settling in?” she asked.

“I’m happier than I’ve been in years,” Blake told her, and meant it.

“We’ll find something more worthy of you than cleaning boats all day. And—I still owe you tea. I’m so sorry. I didn’t look at the schedule in advance. I should have warned you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, truly. I’m sorry Yang made a fuss.”

“My family can be…a challenge. For everyone involved.”

Amid the noise and the happy chaos of the bowling alley, Blake caught Weiss’ eye. “Was your mother like this when you were growing up?” she asked, in a voice she made as gentle as moonlight.

Weiss sighed. “Not at first.”

“I’m so very sorry.”

“It wasn’t so bad. I had Yang and Ruby.”

On cue, Yang yelled, “Blake! Your turn! Come kick our butts!”

Blake, daring, took a moment to catch Weiss’ hand and smile warmly at her. Weiss looked at Blake with nothing but affection. “Yang is right,” she said. “You are an angel.”

**

Jaune and Ruby had moved on to a no-holds-barred game of air hockey. Weiss looked on and offered unhelpful suggestions. Nora and Ren were bowling with house rules: their goal was to get the lowest score, but a gutter ball was worth an automatic ten points. With everyone distracted, Yang and Blake paused for a low-voiced negotiation.

“Come home with me and…get more frustrated than ever?” Blake pleaded.

“Blake, I’ve been not having sex for years. I can keep not having sex as long as we need to. I just…” She paused. “I brought my sweats,” she admitted.

“I bought you coffee.”

“You’re a goddess and I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world.”

“I don’t want the world. I just want to hold you for a while.”

**

“I sleep better when you’re here,” Blake confessed later, wrapped up in Yang’s arms.

They listened to the sounds of the night outside. The gulls were mostly quiet, asleep. A faint splashing below might be an otter, Yang had said, or a seal.

“Something happened,” Yang finally said. “You don’t have to tell me what, or how, or when, or who. Maybe someday, if you want to, if you’re ready. But what you need to know, now, is _nothing_ will happen to you while I’m here. I swear it.”

“I believe you,” said Blake. In Yang’s warmth, the red dreams couldn’t touch her.

**

A couple days later, after her shift ended, Blake walked up the hill to find the Signal Library.

She took a couple wrong turns. The library was an older government-issue building, indistinguishable from the other light-industry and warehouse buildings around it. A small sign marked its entrance, hand-carved white letters in a block of old painted wood.

The building was about evenly divided between computer terminals and stacks, with a long full shelf near the front reading HOLDS. About fifteen small kids held court around a reader in a common area. If the walls could use a fresh coat of paint, the place was warm, clean, and dry. Blake was in heaven.

After negotiating herself a library card and picking up one too many paperbacks to carry easily, a thought occurred to her. “Is Fox Alistair around?” she asked the front desk librarian.

Fox’s office proved to be small and spartan. No art hung on the walls, nothing sat on his desk but a laptop. Two old chairs faced the desk, both with casual throw pillows. The only sign of comfort was the desk chair, a modern one with the look of something originally designed for video gaming.

Fox seemed quietly pleased to see her. “Did you find some books for yourself?”

“Probably too many,” Blake said, laughing.

“That happens. Don’t forget to leave some for later.”

“Some days I wish paperback books had wish lists, like the online ones do.”

“‘If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets,’” quoted Fox, “and Signal was a fishing town once. Our nets and our wishes are large.”

Blake smiled. “I’m sorry to interrupt your afternoon,” she said, “but I had a super random question and was wondering if you could help.”

Fox tilted his head in interest. “Go on.”

“I keep hearing the name Salem. Is that significant here?”

“Mm. The only Salem I know is a local outfit that seems to be trying to buy and develop half of Patch. I don’t think their owners are islanders, but they sure do like spending money here.”

“Huh,” she said. “I was talking to someone who seemed scared of them.”

“Money people can be scary. I haven’t heard of them burying any bodies in their construction sites if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s possible they’re starting to throw their weight around with the council or planning people. They’ve got enough investment here for them to take an interest. I’ve no idea what they’re planning.”

So maybe Willow’s skewed take on the world had built Salem into a nightmare threat they weren’t, Blake thought. But she seemed a good observer…

“I think Emerald Sustai works for Salem,” Fox said idly. “You met her at Sun and Neptune’s party. You could always ask her about the place if you see her again.”

“Thanks, Fox. I might.”

**

Later, Yang called instead of texting. Must be serious, Blake thought. “Are you up for an evening out?” Yang asked. “Some of my customers told me the orca pod is hanging out at Razor Point. If we leave now, we can get there before sunset.”

They took a couple of the scooters and headed across Patch. (Blake even grabbed one of the tourist helmets. It was easier, and she’d started to lose her worry about looking silly in front of Yang.) It was a mild evening with more than a hint of fall chill. Light clouds played over skies starting to shade towards orange. The shadows grew longer as they rode.

Razor Point was a small lighthouse built above a rocky shoal on the western side of Patch. Dark water surrounded the lighthouse on three sides. “You can’t tell, but the water is super deep over here,” Yang explained. “We’re basically standing on top of an underwater cliff. The whales like it because the fish gather near the cliff walls, but it’s still deep enough for them to swim down when they want.”

They settled together on a rock and watched the sunset for a while. After a few minutes, a gleeful Yang pointed out four or five curved fins lazily breaching the surface of the water, then fading back under the surface. A whale’s tail—a fluke, Yang called it—emerged briefly and submerged again.

“If we’re really lucky…” Yang breathed.

One of the orcas emerged headfirst from the water, nearly vertical, raising a third of its body above the water line. It held the position for a moment, a sleek black and white living tower, then sank back. Blake clapped her hands with joy.

“Spy hopping,” said Yang. “It’s how they look around for seals or other food on the surface, or just check out what’s going on above water.”

They kept watching, but the whales seemed content to hang out just below the surface. Plumes of mist emerged as they breathed. Eventually both fins and mist plumes disappeared.

“Aw, they left,” said Blake.

“Probably dove. They can stay down quite a while if they want to.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Not unless you try to make them the main attraction in a marine park,” Yang said lightly. “Only the captives have ever tried to hurt or kill humans.”

“No wonder. Yang, this is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.”

The sunset faded to a deeper orange, with purple streaks flaring in the clouds above them. All the colours of the sky reflected off the water below, creating a slow explosion of light. Blake looked on in wonder. As the light faded, she felt her mood darkening.

“I wish I knew why you were so kind to me,” she said to Yang.

“You deserve it.”

“I don’t think I do. You barely know me. I’ve said next to nothing about my past and you haven’t asked. For all you know, I’m a serial killer.”

Yang cocked her head. “Do you want me to ask?”

“I…” Blake fell silent.

They looked out at the water for a while. “Trust is…really hard for me,” Yang said. “It doesn’t come naturally. It’s something I have to practice, every day. I haven’t had a lot of people in my life who stayed in my life.”

A gull flew overhead, crying. “When I met you at the shop,” Yang continued, “I just…I felt something. A connection. Like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Yes, you’re drop-dead gorgeous, but it was like…I knew you. I’ve always known you. I had no idea who you are and yet I’d been waiting for you all this time. But you’re…a deep person. Like, oceans deep. So much below the surface. And I can’t, I don’t _trust_ that you’ll stay if I ask too many questions. So, I don’t ask. Because I’m terrified of losing that connection. Losing you. Instead…I practice.”

Blake watched the purple light fading to darkest blues, edging towards true nightfall. Her eyes blurred with tears. “I am so _broken_ ,” she said bitterly, “and I hurt _everyone_ around me.”

Yang seemed to snap out of a trance. “Blake, no. I’ve watched you, every day. Yes, you’re obviously dealing with some shit. But you’ve been kind and caring with me, Weiss, Sun and Neptune, everyone I’ve watched you meet. That’s who you are. That’s why I’m here.” She settled a bit. “I just wish I knew how to help you trust me.”

Blake looked inside herself and found nothing but an empty, bone-deep weariness. “Fashion modelling is like playing dress-up,” she said. “At first it was just to pay some bills in school, but…I liked it. I liked looking good. I liked the clothes. I liked how the _camera_ ,” she nearly spit the word, “saw me, made me more beautiful than I am. So, I dropped out of school. Got an agent, moved to Haven. The money was good. The people were _flattering_. I felt like a goddess. Just kept working, building my portfolio, finding better and better designers and photographers to work with. Eventually I moved to Vale. More mainstream, bigger audiences, more money. It was all good for a while.” She stopped. Out of breath. Out of hope. Out of everything. “Then it wasn’t.”

Yang, listening, took her hand. Blake started to recoil, then relaxed as Yang gently stroked Blake’s knuckles. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” said Blake bitterly. “All those years, learning how to be beautiful, learning how to be _attractive_. Should I have been surprised when I attracted the wrong person?”

“ _Blake,_ ” Yang said sharply.

“I don’t want to be who I was any more,” said Blake. “I can’t be that woman again. And I’m terrified…Yang, there are _so many_ photos of me. So many. At Sun’s party I was convinced I was going to be recognized. Someday, even here, someone is going to walk up to me and ask for an autograph. And I don’t know what I’m going to do when that happens.”

She shivered, not just from the cold of the evening. Yang held out her arms. Blake hesitated, then leaned into the hug.

“I told you,” said Yang. “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.”

“I believe you,” Blake said again. “But you can’t protect me 24/7. I wouldn’t want you to.”

They sat quietly for a while.

“I think,” said Yang, “you need to talk to Ruby.”

“…wait, what? Why Ruby?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Ruby is several kinds of a martial artist, teaches classes at her own dojo in Signal. In her spare time, she teaches free self-defense classes for women, but for you I bet she’d give a few private lessons. I could teach you how to beat the shit out of people who bother you, but Ruby is better at it than I am. I’m just strong. Ruby is fierce.”

Blake found herself smiling a bit. “I used to do kickboxing.”

“That’s a start,” agreed Yang.

Blake nodded and huddled up against Yang. “I’ll think about it.”

The silence stretched, a bit more comfortable now. A few stars started to appear, tiny lights in an empty sky. The breeze off the water grew colder. Blake found herself thawing her hands inside Yang’s coat, taking comfort in Yang’s body heat.

Like a furnace that never stops warming everything around it.

“I’m so grateful for you,” Blake whispered. “I still don’t think I deserve you. But I’ll try to earn your trust.”

Yang looked down at her and swallowed whatever she was going to say. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Blake hated it. She thought of asking Yang to kiss her, but in the moment, it felt like a bribe, not how she wanted to earn trust—

“I want to go home,” Blake said. “With you. I want to watch a show about baking and curl up under blankets and fall asleep in your arms. I want to wake up in the morning and smell the coffee on your breath and know that you and I are figuring it out together. Whatever this is. Because I don’t want to lose you either.”

Yang smiled. “Okay,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a couple more chapters to the estimated count, and Chapter 5 is longer than the previous chapters. The story needed a little more room to breathe.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am.


	6. Heart

**Blake!**

have you seen the signs for the fall festival?

A few

Looks like a big deal

winter is better, but this is a good one

last big town event before the tourists leave

want to go?

I promise good company and amazing

bad-for-you food

I’m in

Yang was working through a set of box jumps when she noticed her father watching her.

Yang’s father had ceded the old farmhouse to Yang and Ruby a year or two earlier, when Yang had moved back to the island. He’d settled in the smaller but newer guest house down the driveway. It wasn’t unusual for him to pop by. The main house had the home gym, among other things. He, too, was dressed for a workout, wearing loose fitting shorts and a t-shirt in his usual earth tones.

Yang finished her set and yelled at her smart speaker to lower the volume. “Hey, Dad.”

“Good morning, my sunny dragon,” he said. His voice was warm but a bit distracted. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You already did,” said Yang, but she was smiling as she said it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Good form on those jumps. At least until that last one.”

“Perfectionist.”

Her father walked over to the heavy bag, tapped it two or three times, then unleashed a flurry of quick, brutal blows that would have startled someone who didn’t know him well. Yang watched, amused.

“Something on your mind, Dad?”

He paused and grinned at her. “It’s a better wake-up call than all that coffee you drink.”

“You’re not dodging as well as you used to, old man.”

“That’s it, keep smart mouthing me. Your next sparring session is coming sooner than you think.” He laughed.

“You know you’re visibly shorter than you used to be?”

“Lower to the ground means better stability.”

For all her teasing, his back must be bothering him, Yang thought. He skipped the kettle bell in favour of a few extra push-ups and didn’t even look at the wall-balls lined up in the corner.

“You’re doing your tai chi forms later, yeah?”

Her father sighed. “Did your sister set you up to harass me about that?”

“Yes, we know, you prefer your strong manly exercises, but the tai chi means you can _move_. Movement is good. Neither of us wants to carry you around.”

“Why not? I carried you two around for years. Seems unfair.”

Yang settled into the bench for some dumbbell chest presses. All went well for the first two sets, but on the third one her overtaxed right arm gave way, sending the dumbbell landing on the ground with a crash. Her dad looked at her.

“That’s why I use dumbbells instead of a bar,” muttered Yang.

“I could spot you,” her dad offered.

“No, you couldn’t,” said Yang, closing the subject. Her father winced, almost imperceptibly.

Yang stood up, racked her weights one at a time with her left hand, and paced around the gym, working the soreness out of the muscles in her right arm. Yang’s dad left her to her own headspace for a few minutes.

“So,” he eventually said, too easily. “Ruby tells me you’re seeing someone.”

Yang rolled her eyes. “It’s casual. We just met a few weeks ago.”

“Casual. Huh. Not the way I heard it. I think the words Ruby used were ‘intense’ and ‘terrifying.’”

“Ruby is overselling it,” Yang said. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”

“At least one of those statements is almost certainly a falsehood. I’m trying to decide which one.”

“Dear gods, please tell me you’re not going to go into overprotective dad mode. You are _not_ dragging the small cannon out of storage again.”

“Can’t,” he said equably. “I sold it last year.”

“Oh good. I don’t think Ruby’s prom date ever did recover from that scare.”

“That’s OK, he was a drip.”

“ _Dad!_ Okay, yes he was, but still.”

“Also, you’re changing the subject. Does your poor surviving parent get to meet this girl at some point?”

“…at some point. Maybe. When she’s ready.”

“I’m looking forward to it. More importantly…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s your house. You’re a grown woman. You’re free to bring home whomever you like whenever you like. You know that, right?”

Yang closed her eyes and counted to five. “I wasn’t planning on asking _permission_ , Dad,” she said, then softened. “But thank you. I’m not trying to keep her away from you, I swear. We’re just taking it slowly.”

“Okay. What’s her name?”

“Blake. Blake Belladonna,” she said, rolling the syllables through her mouth like a good whiskey.

“Wow,” said Taiyang Xiao Long. “Ruby was right. You’re already hopeless.”

**

Blake greeted Yang at the door with an enormous hug, then held both hands and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, long enough to be meaningful. Yang held her fingers to her cheek for a moment, sure that Blake had left some warmth there. Yang’s smile blazed.

“Is there an occasion?” she asked lightly.

“I just missed you,” Blake said. Her clothes were casual, a white-and-purple top with the black jeans Blake seemed to favour. She looked gorgeous.

“Me too.”

They walked up the hill together. “This one is in two places,” Yang said. “The stuff that needs some space, like the hayrides, are up at the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town. Everything else is at the co-op market.”

“A market fair?”

“Literally, in this case. You’ll see.”

The co-op had once been a parking lot behind an old disused warehouse. A few years back somebody had cleaned both up and installed booths both inside and outside the warehouse space. Merchants lined up to hawk everything from fresh vegetables to small art to toys and flowers. On the small performance stage, a juggler twirled a pair of poi, moving from a five-beat-weave pattern to some complex flowers and antispin flowers before moving back to the weave. Blake stopped and watched, fascinated.

“You like the poi?”

“I used to do a little juggling and ribbon dance when I was a kid. Some of the patterns look similar. I should try this. I love throwing stuff around.”

“There’s a guy in town who sells poi. Might be here today for all I know.” Yang made a mental _birthday / winter holiday_ _gift_ note to herself.

They found a place to sit and munch on their fried dough, laughing at all the powdered sugar. Blake playfully offered to clean Yang’s hands. She used a napkin innocently enough, but then finished by delicately licking one of Yang’s fingers clean, keeping eye contact the whole time. Yang took a breath, and then another one. “Keep _that_ up, we might not be staying at the festival too long,” she said softly.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” said Blake. “For now.”

 _For now_. Yang’s heart leapt at the words. She took one more breath for control, said “I’d expect no less,” almost evenly.

Blake tried to take Yang’s hand on their way to the hayrides, but it was the wrong hand. Lightning spiralled up Yang’s arm. She couldn’t quite stifle a wince and gasp. Blake instantly noticed. “Shit. Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Does your arm hurt today?”

Yang managed a grin. “I goofed it lifting weights this morning. I’ll be fine.” She angled to Blake’s other side, held out her left hand. Blake took it, not without a moment’s hesitation, but relaxed as Yang’s firm grip seemed to reassure her.

The hayride was all they could have hoped for, a gentle wagon ride around the old arena and livestock buildings of the fairground, behind a notably placid horse. They sat together on a bale covered in blankets, listened to the kids play, and held hands quietly. Blake seemed content to enjoy the atmosphere. Yang looked at Blake’s profile, a classical sculptor’s dream in casual clothes, and wondered how long Yang’s good fortune would last.

After the ride was over, Blake slipped a bit getting down off the wagon. Yang caught her but had to use her right arm again. This time the lightning turned to a searing burn she felt through her muscles and down to her bones. She bit back a shriek.

Wide-eyed, Blake hustled Yang away, with a quick waved apology to the wagon driver. They stopped at a bench near the grandstand. “ _Yang_ ,” Blake said, either demanding or pleading.

“It’s just overtaxed,” Yang protested. “I’ll be fine.”

“We need to put some ice on it, or at least get you some painkillers.” Blake rummaged through her small bag while Yang kept sputtering, pulled out a couple tablets. “Here. And _don’t argue_.”

Yang thought about arguing anyway, looked at the concern in Blake’s face, and decided it wasn’t worth it. She dry-swallowed the tablets and took a swig from a water bottle to wash them down.

“What do you normally do for your arm when it’s like this?” Blake asked.

“Just rest it, mostly. I’ve got some range-of-motion stuff that I can do when it settles down. If I’m really having a bad day, I sometimes wear my old sling for a while just to take the weight off it.” Yang wasn’t sure why she admitted that last bit.

“Do we need to go get your sling?”

“No,” Yang said firmly.

“Hm.” Blake seemed unconvinced. Her concerned smile turned mischievous. “If we need to take the weight off of you, how about if we go lie down for a while?”

“You know,” said Yang, “I’m open to that idea.”

Blake held her left hand and leaned close. “I’ve been thinking,” she whispered. “I could kiss you and make it better. If you’d like.”

“Gods, Blake, _yes…_ ”

Blake’s breath was sweet, and her lips tasted of powdered sugar with a hint of mint, and her arms around Yang’s neck were like coming home after a long journey. Seconds or hours passed. Yang wasn’t sure.

“We should go,” whispered Blake, inches away from Yang’s ear. “We’re going to scare the kids.”

“Or the parents,” Yang breathed. “The kids might learn something,” and was rewarded with Blake’s perfect laugh.

**

Hours later, Blake curled like a contented cat into Yang’s left side, half dozing. Yang would have sworn she could hear purring. She rested her right arm lightly over Blake, cautious not to stretch or strain anything, and paused for a moment of admiration. Silken skin over lithe muscles, brown sugar and cream skin, a perfect face.

“This is okay?" she asked.

“This is more than okay,” Blake said. “This is incredible.” She shifted a little. “Your arm…”

“…is fine. We were super careful with it. Well, you were.”

They listened to the rumbling traffic of a ferry being loaded, heard the gulls crying in the distance.

“Come home with me tonight?” offered Yang.

Blake shifted in her arms. “I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable having me there.”

“I would love to have you over. I live in a farmhouse outside of town. I wanted you to feel safe with me before we drove out there. I know you’re still…recovering.”

“I feel safe with you, Yang,” said Blake, adding a lingering kiss for emphasis.

"Ruby lives there too. She has the upper floor. My father lives on the property but he’s got his own house.”

“And your mom?”

Yang took a deep breath and felt Blake tense next to her. “Yeah, we haven’t talked about that, have we? No mom. She died suddenly when I was fifteen.”

“Oh Yang,” said Blake. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should have asked.”

“Not your fault at all. It’s not something I talk about much.” She hesitated a minute. “It still hurts. I miss her every day.”

Blake held her lips to Yang’s forehead like a benediction, kissed her gently, brushed Yang’s hair back from her face. Her face was all concern, but she said nothing, just let Yang decide if she wanted to talk further.

To Yang’s surprise, she did. “I love my dad, but he was gone a lot when I was a kid. On assignment or deployment or whatever. Mom was the rock, the one who dressed up our skinned knees, made hot cocoa, fed us supper, and told us stories. Or gave us hell for doing something stupid. Losing her…wasn’t like losing an anchor, it was like losing an anchor and a rudder and a mainmast at the same time.” Yang laughed a little. “It turned out she had a hidden heart defect, an enlarged ventricle. Can you even imagine? Her heart was too big for her. I could have told the doctors that.”

“She sounds amazing,” said Blake.

“She really was. Dad came home for the funeral and stayed for a little while, but he wasn’t much more together than we were. He had to go back to work eventually anyway. I had an uncle who looked in on us, but it was really me and Ruby for a few years. And Weiss, a bit later.”

Blake held Yang softly but firmly. “That must have been so hard.”

“We survived. We had each other.” Yang pushed through her fears, spoke her deepest truth: “Most of the people I’ve cared about in my life have disappeared. The ones who stay…all the money in the world couldn’t buy them.” She stopped. “Holy shit, that was a lot. I’m not trying to pressure you, I swear. I was talking about my family, I didn’t mean…”

“Yang,” said Blake. “It’s okay. I promise.” She kissed her.

Yang’s fingers slid down, traced lightly over the scar tissue at Blake’s hip. “As long as we’re trading hard stories, I meant to ask—”

“Yeah.” Blake smiled with reassurance. “It’s healing.”

“I’m glad.”

**

They picked up some Chinese takeout for dinner on the way out of town. Yang had to drive one handed, not because her arm was bothering her, but because Blake insisted on holding her hand through the whole drive. She didn’t mind.

Ruby was in the kitchen when they arrived. When she saw Blake, she tried hard to conceal her gleeful expression and look decorous, but her bouncing feet and happy grin betrayed her. Thankfully, she had the sense not to go for a hug. Yang wouldn’t normally mind, but she and Blake were…a little fragrant. Ruby might have worked that out herself, Yang reflected.

They lasted about ten minutes, just long enough to wave at Ruby and eat a little dinner, before Blake leaned over and whispered in Yang’s ear, “I can’t wait any longer.” Yang took her by the hand and led Blake to her rooms. The door closed firmly behind them.

**

In the morning, Ruby drove Blake over to her dojo for a private lesson before Blake’s shift. A sleepy but satisfied Yang wandered down to the gym for a standing-bike workout.

Yang was about to flip on an overhead light when she paused. A few low lights illuminated the room, and Yang realized she wasn’t alone. Her father sat on a weight bench, head down, eyes lowered. He’d dressed for a workout, but there were no signs of exertion, and no weights around him. He was barehanded, looking out at nothing. One fist opened and closed, slowly, in an even rhythm.

Yang slowly and quietly backed out of the room, leaving Taiyang to his ghosts.


	7. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Canon-typical violence, past abuse

Some days later, Blake was back at Ruby’s dojo, the Crescent Rose Studio. It was an exotic name for a bare storefront, set up with lots of mats. Staves and bos lined one wall. A bit of fencing gear was propped up in one corner, incongruous in a martial arts dojo. The windows were screened to let light in but not reveal anything to the street, or vice versa.

Ruby moved like barely contained lightning, but Blake had never seen anyone who could stand so still while at rest.

“I like guns,” Ruby was saying. “I even build a few in my spare time. I’ll teach you to shoot one if you want, but the problem with weapons is, you don’t always have them. And when you do, they don’t always work. And you have to reload. And people feel more bad-assed when they carry them, so they do stupid shit instead of de-escalating. For most of us it’s better to rely on your wits and stuff you carry around normally. You can’t lose those.”

“You’re so practical, Ruby,” said Blake. “I appreciate it. I was half expecting you to make me wear judo robes to walk in the door.”

“Are you planning to wear keikogi all day for the rest of your life?” Ruby asked.

Blake laughed. “No.”

“The stuff we use in the dojo is fine for training and for martial arts competitions, but you’re not interested in belts and rankings,” said Ruby. “This is about feeling confident and prepared for any situation. That means wearing what you wear in your life. But when you’re buying clothes, think about how you’ll move in them. Tight pants are fun. You look amazing in them, but make sure the material has some stretch. If you’re going to wear a jacket, make sure you can shrug it off if you need to. No constraints.”

They did some breathing exercises, worked on balance, practiced the simple strike that Ruby had taught Blake the first day. “No, don’t over-rotate,” she said, “or over-extend. This is fast and simple, that’s it.” She demonstrated the movement again, a quick powerful blow to the groin or solar plexus, backed with a subtle body movement to put the full power of the torso behind it. “It’s all about _balance_. By the time I’m done with you you’ll have it so memorized you’ll be doing it in your sleep. But please don’t, especially if Yang is with you.” Ruby giggled.

Ruby had been fascinated with Blake’s mobility, and had her doing side lunges and quick pivots until she was nearly out of breath. “You have to use your natural gifts,” Ruby said. “You are _fast_ , and you’ve got good body control. A clumsy attacker, you could probably dance right out of their way and let them fall on their face. Perfect strategy.”

After some more exercises, they took a break. Blake took a long pull from a water bottle. “You and Yang are _really_ in shape. Did your dad train you when you were kids?”

“He did! All our lives, really, whenever he could. He wanted us to be strong and able to handle ourselves in any situation. The Atlas military tried to recruit both of us when we were the right age, but we both said no. I went to study martial arts in Mistral instead.”

“Which styles?”

“Several. Take-downs and throws are fun, but my favourites are the arts that use weapons. Long staff, stick fighting, that kind of thing.” She laughed. “My first love was shooting a rifle—I’m a really good shot. But I had a couple teachers who pointed out I was useless if an opponent was up close and personal. Starting with my dad. So, I’ve been branching out for years. I still like weapons though.”

“Including fencing?”

“That’s Weiss’ stuff,” she said cheerfully. “She comes in to practice once in a while. I don’t know why. She’s got a perfectly good fencing setup at home, and I’m mostly useless at it, but she says she likes the company.”

They wrapped up with Blake thanking Ruby again for her time and help. “I’m still getting my feet under me, but I’ll be able to pay you back for the lessons soon, I swear.”

“Yang’s happy. Payment enough for now. Hey, did I hear you’re coming over to dinner Friday night?”

“If that’s OK. I’m looking forward to meeting your Dad properly. I think Yang invited Weiss too.”

“Weiss will be there,” said Ruby with certainty. “I can’t wait.”

**

Blake loved the old Xiao Long farmhouse. It had obviously been built in stages over a number of years, as the family expanded and money allowed. The common areas were in one of the newer parts of the house, with an arching ceiling made of timber, warm hardwood floors, and a view of the mountain to the north. The open kitchen counter had a long bar with seats where everyone could socialize.

Ruby bounced around the kitchen like a rubber ball, pulling together trays of appetizers. Yang was serving beer and wine from a small older fridge clearly dedicated to the purpose. Weiss set the table while Taiyang fussed over a grill on the back patio. Zwei, the family corgi, bounced around everyone’s ankles, hoping for some dropped food.

It all felt more domestic than anything Blake had experienced since she left Menagerie.

Almost like home.

Dinner was a haze of good food and laughter and stories. Taiyang told a few that the others had clearly heard, but everyone let him enjoy his new audience. 

“…he’d spent his whole enlistment having sergeants yell at him. ‘Stand up! Fix yourself! It would _behoove_ you to get your _hands_ out of your _pockets.’_ Week after week, they kept this up. Finally, the weekend after Qrow got his discharge, he went out and bought a new pair of pants. Cargo pants. With _six different pockets_. He spent the next week working out how to keep at least one hand stuck in one pocket at all times, including while seated and on the toilet.”

“…after which, he threw the pants away,” drawled Yang, “while you’re still wearing cargo shorts to this day.”

“ _Some_ people are quitters.”

“The problem with pockets is people _will_ put _stuff_ in them,” complained Weiss. “It ruins the lines of the clothes.”

“Yes, but then they can carry things, Weiss,” said Ruby patiently.

“Handbags were made for just such purposes.”

“You nearly tore my head off the time I dropped my multitool in one of your purses,” Ruby pointed out.

“It was covered in _gun oil!_ ”

“You’d rather I stuffed it in one of my pockets?”

“I’d rather you kept your tools _clean_ like a normal human being,” sniffed Weiss, before grinning. “Besides, you had a perfectly good tool belt of your own you chose not to use.”

“We were going to one of your boats. I was afraid your people would send me around to the servant’s entrance.”

“Boats don’t have servant’s entrances.” Weiss paused for a moment. “Well, most of them. None of mine, anyway.”

“They’d have invented one for me.”

Weiss pretended to consider this. “Possibly.”

“You have more than one boat, Weiss?” Blake asked. The rest of the table chuckled.

“You’ve seen the _Winter’s Song_ ,” Weiss said. “That’s the family live-aboard. It used to belong to my father but these days my mother often stays aboard when she’s in town. I’ve got my own boat, _Myrtenaster_. She’s a sailboat, smaller and faster. Yang and Ruby come out to crew for me once in awhile.”

“More Ruby than me,” said Yang. “I get seasick in rough water.”

“It’s all about balance,” said Ruby, grinning at Blake. “We’ll have to take you out sometime.”

“I’d like that,” said Blake. “I used to sail a bit at home in Menagerie.”

“The water is probably a _lot_ warmer down there,” said Ruby wistfully.

“Well, yeah, but you still only wanted to swim on your own terms. I got dunked once or twice while I was learning to tack.”

“Me too,” said Ruby. “It—all together now— _builds character_ ,” chorused the Xiao Longs and Weiss.

“Did Taiyang tell you about his boat?” Weiss asked.

Blake looked at Taiyang, who looked embarrassed. Almost bashful. “It’s nothing like Weiss’ collection. I’ve got a little motorboat I use for fishing, just big enough for me and a friend and a few crab pots.”

“Does she have a name?” asked Blake.

“ _Summer_ ,” Taiyang said. Ruby wore a soft smile. Yang looked down at her plate.

“How often do you get out on her?”

“Quite a bit in late summer - it’s the high fishing season, but it’s also high tourist season, so we’re all busy. The rest of the year I work in my garden if it’s decent weather or do some work around the farmhouse. It’s a big property. There’s always something to do. Sometimes I help out Yang or Ruby at one of the shops if they’re busy.”

Blake smiled. “I love the island lifestyle.”

“I was born here so I don’t know any different, but I tell you what, when I wasn’t here, I missed it every day.”

As dinner wrapped up Taiyang and Weiss volunteered to clean up the plates. Blake, with Yang by her side, drifted over to the fireplace mantle, lined with what looked like generations of family portraits.

Blake looked over the photos with a smile. A gap-toothed Ruby hung off of Yang’s outstretched arm like a gymnast. Another time, the family sat by a lake, fishing—Yang and Ruby and Taiyang and a woman who could only be Yang and Ruby’s mom.

“Your mom’s name was Summer?” Blake asked, gently. Yang nodded.

It looked like Summer and Yang were the most invested in the fish, while Taiyang laughed and carried Ruby on his shoulders. The lake was dark and blue and cool, a visual contrast to what had obviously been a hot day. In another photo, Summer sat astride a motorcycle on a fall day, uncaring of her helmet hair, a happy look in her eyes. There was an obvious age gap, then the photos resumed: Yang as an older teenager, haunted but smiling, with Ruby still shining in eternal excitement.

A recent portrait of Yang and Ruby interested Blake. It was an obvious step up in artistic quality from the other photos, professionally done. The photographer had used natural light, framing Yang’s face so that she glowed with inner light, while still allowing enough shadows and blacks to emphasize Ruby’s perky goth clothing and darker features. It was a sophisticated trick, more than most would be able to achieve.

Then Blake saw the signature on the photo print. Her blood turned cold. Her stomach twisted with acid.

Yang picked up on her sudden distress almost instantly. “Blake?” she said quietly. “What is it?”

“That photographer—“ Blake began, and couldn’t continue.

Taiyang, clearing plates, called over, “Oh yeah, he’s brilliant, isn’t he? He served with me, back when. He was one of the guys who came through the program while I was an instructor doing ops training maybe ten years ago. Not the best warrior I ever taught, but it turned out later he had a hell of an eye for a good photo.”

Blake couldn’t breathe. No, wait, she was breathing too much: hyperventilating, shaking. Her body seemed detached, no longer part of her, an entity that somehow carried Blake as a frightened passenger.

Blake heard a choked voice say, “The guy you _taught_ stabbed me and left me to die around the time he took your photo,” and was mildly surprised to realize that the voice was her own.

Ruby stared in horror. Weiss’ eyes were icy pools in a face carved from a glacier. Yang, beautiful Yang, trusted Yang, her expressive mouth twisted in sudden fear and rage, was saying something, but the roaring in Blake’s ears blocked it all.

Blake’s body started to run.

Yang reached for her but she moved so slowly. Blake watched herself dodge, leap down a hallway, dive for the front door. She made it out before anyone could stop her and ran, ran, ran, back towards Signal, away from Yang, away from Taiyang Xiao Long and his _photographer_.

**

Blake didn’t make it all the way, of course.

If Yang had been driving, Blake would have refused the ride, but an ashen-faced Ruby could not be denied. Ruby didn’t ask for explanations. She waited for Blake to finish throwing up, let Blake cry silently all the way back to town, helped her back to her apartment.

“Tell Yang I can’t,” babbled Blake. “I can’t right now. Tell her I’ll call her later.”

“I will,” said Ruby. “She’ll understand. Blake—“

Blake had no hope left, but Ruby’s silver eyes were the color of an anchor. Blake tried to look at her, tried to feel something besides fear, tried to warm herself on Ruby’s eternal optimism.

“He’s not here, okay? He’s not on Patch. He’s never been to Patch. That photo was taken on the mainland,” Ruby said. “Don’t make any major decisions. Please. Give it at least a few days. We’re all here for you when you’re ready.”

Blake couldn’t speak. She nodded.

**

Blake blocked Yang’s number on her phone and cried herself to sleep that night.

By morning she was calm enough to make a cup of tea, start packing her bag and looking up ferry schedules. By noon she collapsed in a tearful wreck again as she realized she couldn’t do it. There was nowhere else to run. She couldn’t imagine a world that didn’t include Yang’s strong arms and warm lilac eyes. She felt torn anew, wounded in ways that would never really heal.

There were two versions of Blake, she found. One was the sobbing mess that hid under blankets and drank tea grown cold. The second was a sardonic voice in the back of her head, calm and controlled, saying things like _wow, you’re really taking dehydration to a new level_ and _have you considered just_ not _being who you are?_

To shut up the sardonic voice Blake reported for her work shift on the second day, coal eyed and blank. She could barely face Weiss, but found herself clinging desperately when Weiss offered a hug. Weiss said nothing about Yang and Blake couldn’t bring herself to ask. Her movements were mechanical, unsteady, but the work got done.

By the third day she was a bit more steady. The red dreams were starting to fade, letting her sleep a bit in exhaustion.

Yang. Gods, how was she ever going to talk to Yang about this? Could she make Yang understand? What could Yang do? More than once Blake pulled her phone out, stared at it for minutes at a time, then shoved it back untouched. Her heart felt like an ocean after a storm, hammered flat, calm and still on the surface but with deep currents still churning beneath the waves.

That evening, Blake was brewing yet another cup of tea when her ears perked. She couldn’t tell why, but she was uneasy. Something was wrong.

It started as a rumble, like a truck moving onto the nearby ferry. Then her floor felt like a roller coaster, swaying up and down.

 _A quake_ , Blake’s sardonic voice said. _Too much drama_ _this week._

She had no more time before the swaying became a violent churning. Blake had lived through earthquakes before, but this quickly turned into a feral beast she’d never imagined.The floor pitched and bucked wildly beneath her feet. The world was suddenly full of noise, a horrible grinding and shrieking atop a constant bass rumble, like the very earth was screaming. Glasses and plates came crashing out of the cabinets like rain, falling onto the tile and smashing, adding to the chaotic din.

Blake looked desperately for a piece of heavy furniture to crawl under. She tried to ride the waves of movement but staggered and fell at a fierce jolt. On hands and knees she watched as the walls swayed and tore, jagged cracks appearing in the drywall before spars of wood emerged like spears in a wounded whale. A lamp fell next to her, missing her by inches.

 _Things fall apart, the center cannot hold_ , her sardonic voice whispered, but it was overwhelmed with panic. The building was built on _wooden pilings_ in a _harbor_. How could it survive this? Blake tried to crawl for the door but had lost all sense of direction. Her apartment tilted around Blake and bounced her around, a bruised body tumbling helplessly through the room.

The violent thrashing went on and on. She heard shouting, pleading, someone offering up what might have been a prayer, but it was all drowned in the cacophony of the world falling apart. Chunks of ceiling were landing on her. Blake tried to move but was thrown heavily again, landing painfully on her side. The adrenaline was poisoning her, too much fear for too long, curling her into a helpless ball. Desperate, on pure instinct, she cried out with all the strength she had left: “ _YANG!_ "

Something heavy smashed into her head. Blake was hurled into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I knew it was coming and that was still hard to write.
> 
> Lots of story to go. Next chapter in a few days. 
> 
> (if you need help: domestic violence hotlines for many regions can be found at https://www.sooketransitionhousesociety.com/international-domestic-violence-resource-guide)


	8. Aftermath

Yang’s fury was incandescent.

She couldn’t remember being so angry. Not in Atlas. Not when her bio-mother refused her calls. Not when Ruby was bullied at school. Only her mom’s death compared.

Yang could feel every muscle, every nerve ending. Her whole body ached with rage. Her self-control felt like a frayed rope, holding back a cataclysm with a few fibres stretched too thin. She remembered the photo session, the photographer _._ Remembered his charming smile, his large hands holding the camera. Remembered her father laughing, joking with him, as old friends do. _“Oh, yeah, he’s brilliant, isn’t he?”_

Blake’s voice. “ _I feel safe with you, Yang,”_ Blake had said.

Blake had blocked Yang’s number. Yang sent text after text anyway.

Yang texted Weiss late in the night after Blake fled. _I am a literal danger to my father’s life rn_ , she wrote. Weiss took her at her word. She ordered Yang over to Weiss’ house, let her alternate between brutal workouts and crying jags in the home gym until Yang’s eyes were red with blood and tears.

Yang was terrified Blake would leave for good. Pack her bag, disappear on the first ferry, never to be seen again. Weiss made Yang swear on Ruby and everything else she held dear that she would let Blake recover, wouldn’t go to her apartment or try to find her until Blake was ready. _She knows it wasn’t your fault,_ Weiss said. _She’ll come back_ , she repeated over and over again, and Yang tried to believe her.

There everything rested for three days.

Then the rock cried out, and there was no hiding place.

**

Yang had been at work when the quake hit. The rental shop was already closed, but she’d been losing herself in repairing one of the scoot-coupes when she first felt the ground start to rumble beneath her.

Everything had been tied down and locked up for the evening, so Yang didn’t have to deal with scooters flying across the parking lot. She, on the other hand, fell and landed heavily on her bad arm after an especially hard jolt, getting bounced around a bit for good measure. The noise was unearthly, a grinding and smashing like being caught in the gods’ own grain mill. She could _hear_ the asphalt cracking beneath her.

At last, the tremors started to subside. Yang, on hands and knees skinned raw with abrasions, looked out at the harbor below. It looked more normal than she expected. A few boats had been tossed around, one landed on a pier, but otherwise the floating docks looked undamaged. The town, on the other hand, was a mess, and—

The old cannery building where Blake lived was a crumpled heap of wood and steel on a broken, teetering dock. To Yang’s eye it looked like it could collapse into the harbor at any moment.

Yang started to run even before the word _tsunami_ crossed her mind. The thought of one of the brutal post-earthquake waves drove her panic to new heights. Yang forced all her terror into her legs, dodging building debris and crumbling roads, ignoring the wailing sirens and the people starting to emerge onto the street.

 _Fuck_ Weiss and her promises. _Where was Blake?_

The building was a total loss. One exterior wall of the building had slumped entirely into the water. The steel roof half hung in place, broken and crumbling on the edges, listing heavily to the side.

Miraculously, one of the staircases was still mostly intact. Yang ignored reason, common sense, and every survival instinct to climb onto the broken dock that supported the building. The front door was also intact. Yang yanked it open ( _why_? part of her wondered, looking at the smashed wall to the left) and bolted up the stairs.

Blake was right where Yang was afraid she would be, sprawled face down on the floor of what was left of her apartment. Yang ran to her and quickly checked her over, gasping in relief when she confirmed Blake was still breathing. If Blake had any broken bones, it wasn’t obvious. She was unconscious, a scalp wound bleeding freely, her blood on a broken cabinet door nearby. Her clothes were torn, her body covered in abrasions and drywall dust. The bruises were already starting to form. One ear had a deep scratch in it, almost a notch.

Yang feared hidden neck and spine injuries, but the wailing tsunami siren overrode every other thought in her mind. She gathered Blake in her arms and made her way back to the staircase. A few other survivors were starting to stir in the debris around them. Yang screamed at them to run and then ignored them. She could waste no more time.

Her arms and legs were already burning by the time Yang reached the street. Blake was a dead weight in her hands. The pain in her right arm was a searing fire that ran down every nerve. None of it mattered. She ran straight uphill, ran for two lives.

“Don’t leave me,” she panted. “Don’t leave me, Blake. Don’t leave me.”

**

Yang made it as far as the scooter rental shop before her legs gave out. It was near the top of the hill anyway. A tsunami wave tall enough to reach here would wipe Signal off the map. Yang collapsed on the ground, holding Blake close, waiting.

The sirens wailed. The sound of people shouting became a background hum. Yang tried to slow her heart rate, tried to match her breathing to Blake’s, steadying both of them. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

No wave slammed into the shore.

Yang had read that the ocean often receded before a big wave, but the water level in the cove was mostly normal, if sloshing around like water in a giant tub. There were outer islands protecting the harbor, she remembered. A smaller wave would have to overwhelm them to reach the main harbor. Thank the gods. They might live.

She looked down at the woman in her arms. Blake was starting to move, twisting a bit, turning her face away from the light. Yang set her down just long enough to grab a towel, then gathered her back into her lap and held the towel to her scalp wound to staunch the bleeding.

Blake’s eyes fluttered, flecks of gold visible behind her lashes.

“Yang,” she breathed.

Yang nearly cried in gratitude. “Blake, are you with me?”

“Head hurts,” Blake said.

“Yeah, I bet it does. Hang tough, Blake. Signal is a mess, but we’ll get you some help.”

Blake mumbled something. Yang leaned closer.

“I’m ok,” she said again, her voice slurred. “Have you.”

“Yeah, you have me,” said Yang. For the first time since her mom died, Yang fully burst into uncontrolled, gasping sobs. “You have me,” she said again, and held Blake like the lifeline Blake was.

**

The aid station diagnosis was quick: Blake had a concussion, and a shallow gash in her head that of course bled like crazy, and a world-class set of bruises and scrapes. Yang promised to watch over Blake and hoped she wouldn’t get worse. She wasn’t getting an MRI or a hospital bed tonight. For lack of a better idea, Yang brought her back to the scooter rental shop and dug out old blankets she used on chilly days. Blake went to sleep instantly.

Yang’s phone had no signal. It was hardly a surprise.

Darkness had fallen and emergency lights were being set up all over town. A large crew had gathered at Blake’s old building, helping survivors out of the wreckage. One of the old brick buildings had partly collapsed, sending bricks in giant piles over half the street. Three buildings near the center of town looked mostly intact, but they’d dropped into a sinkhole about twenty feet below street level. The roads were cracked and broken in several places, with chunks of dislodged asphalt pointing to the sky here and there.

A little blur in red and black ran up. “Yang!” shouted Ruby, racing in for one of her full-power hugs. They held each other tight for a moment—and the first aftershock hit. Yang leapt for Blake, holding her steady through the shaking. Blake whimpered but didn’t really wake up.Fortunately, it was worlds easier than the larger quake had been, a rock-and-roll motion that soon settled. Her heart rate still skyrocketed.

“Those aftershocks are going to drive us _crazy,_ ” Ruby predicted. “You’re OK? How’s Blake?”

Yang quickly filled her in. “Have you heard from anyone?”

“I just came from the house. Everything there is mostly fine, including Dad. No power and Dad’s keeping the gas off so it’s going to get a little chilly. The dojo looks intact, but they’ve closed the building for inspection. I need to find Weiss. Saw Nora and Ren earlier, they’re okay. Coco is looking after Velvet. She’s got an ankle sprain and some bruising. No idea about the others.” Ruby could be astonishingly precise when she was focused on something.

Yang grimaced. “Ok. I’d like to go help but I can’t leave Blake alone.”

“Leave it to me,” said Ruby. “What do you two need?”

“Nothing now, but I’d like to get Blake to some real shelter eventually. Or at least get some more blankets. The repair tent wasn’t really meant for this, and we don’t have any food or water beyond a couple snack bars.”

“I’m on it,” said Ruby, and raced off.

Yang stayed with Blake the whole night, holding her through the aftershocks, waking her once every few hours, keeping her plied with water and covered with an emergency blanket Ruby had scored from somewhere. Blake was confused and dizzy whenever she woke but didn’t seem to be getting worse.

Ruby popped by from time to time, bringing a snack or water or just news. Weiss had been at home during the quake and was fine. So was her mother. Weiss had brought a load of water bottles and food to town in her truck—

“…a _pickup truck?_ ” Blake mumbled.

“It was her mom’s. They used it when they were going to the stables.”

“Oh. Makes sense,” Blake said, and closed her eyes again.

—and was passing the supplies out to the people who’d been forced outdoors and were camping in the fairground overnight. Jaune was helping watch over a crowd of kids who’d been separated from their parents. Nora and Ren were searching for survivors in the busted buildings. Neptune’s arm was in a sling, but he and Sun were otherwise fine. Fox was staying out of the way but sent word through Jaune that he was safe and well.

“We might live,” Yang said to Ruby, with dawn lighting up the horizon.

“Of course we’re going to live,” Ruby said, impatiently. “We need sleep though. Weiss offered to take us back to her place if Blake is up for it.”

“Yeah. Probably not a bad idea. Blake? Can you walk a few blocks to Weiss’ truck?”

By then Blake was stirring, if sore and unhappy. Her headache must have been the stuff of legends. She started to sit up, looking a bit nauseous. “Can I go back to sleep?”

“Soon. Weiss lost count of her bedrooms years ago, she can spare one.”

Naturally, Weiss picked that moment to walk up behind Yang. Like all of them she looked exhausted and moved slowly, but her voice was still sharp. “There are seven,” she said with a sniff, “plus the den, which can be used in a pinch. Blake?”

“Hey Weiss,” said Blake.

“You are covered in dried blood and drywall plaster, and you’ve got a concussion. You need a hot shower, a light meal, and a week of rest, in that order. You are coming to my home to get these things. Now.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” said Blake, her words still slurred. “Wait, yes you are.”

“As I was saying. Yang? Ruby?”

“I need to check on Dad,” Ruby said.

“…which you can do _after_ you’ve had six hours of sleep. You said he and the house are fine. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“Bossy, for real,” said Ruby. “Okay. Yang, let’s get Blake up and moving.”

A night in blankets on hard ground with bruises forming all over her had left Blake terribly stiff. She half shrieked with her first attempted steps, but kept walking, hand in hand with Yang, with Weiss leading and Ruby ready to support Blake if she stumbled. Here and there one or another of the women helped Blake cross an especially treacherous piece of broken sidewalk or road. They loaded Blake carefully into the front seat of Weiss’ pickup and drove to Weiss’ home, leaving the broken but unbowed town of Signal behind.

**

For all Yang’s relief at seeing Blake again, they had a lot they needed to say to each other. It wasn’t going to happen right away. Blake could barely speak through her pounding headache.

Weiss gave Blake her own room with a connecting bathroom, right next to the one Yang had taken over a few days earlier. Both rooms showed a few new cracks in the walls, but otherwise looked safe. The heat was off, leaving the rooms filled with fall chill.

Yang bundled Blake into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and helped Blake out of her horror show clothes. Blake looked smaller than Yang had ever seen her, hunched in on herself and squinting in the bright bathroom lights, a goddess cursed with mortality. Yang carefully rinsed the blood and dust off, wrapped Blake gingerly in oversized towels until she warmed up, then helped her into a spare set of Yang’s workout clothes and tucked Blake into bed.

Blake looked calmer, if still nursing a violent hangover. Inspiration struck. Yang found Weiss, made known her needs, and in a few minutes returned triumphantly to Blake: Weiss had found a pair of sleep shades. Blake took them with greedy hands.

“I’ll check on you after I’ve had a nap myself,” said Yang. She leaned down and gave Blake a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Blake reached out and caught Yang’s hand, clinging. “You’ll be here?”

“I’m just in the next room.”

Blake didn’t let go. “Stay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Please?”

“Okay. But let me take a shower first myself. I’m completely gross.”

By the time Yang returned, Blake was fast asleep, wearing her sleep shades. Yang hesitated, then settled in on the bed next to Blake. Not holding her this time—Blake wouldn’t thank her for that until the bruises healed. But nearby, if Blake needed her.

Yang took a deep breath and let the exhaustion claim her.

**

The week progressed, slowly. The aftershocks didn’t make it easier. There were dozens of them a day, ranging from minor jolts to major roller coasters. None of the aftershocks were as dangerous as the first quake, but they tore everyone’s nerves to shreds.

Yang still couldn’t look her father in the eye without wanting to scream at him. She remained in one of Weiss’ extra rooms. Ruby brought over some clean clothes.

“You’re going to have to go home and talk to him eventually, you know,” Ruby said gently.

“I’m going home once Blake is back on her feet again. _Dad_ can stay the fuck out of the main house and out of my way until I’m ready to deal with him. Which might be never.”

“Yang…” Ruby said. “He didn’t know.”

“I know that! But how many more of his _students_ have pulled shit like this? Hell, what kind of shit did _he_ pull when he was younger? You and I both know he’s got active-duty operator stories he’s taking to his grave. Who did _Dad_ stab?”

Ruby looked at her with heartbreaking resignation. “Probably? Quite a few people. But under orders, not because a beautiful woman told him ‘no.’ That photographer was a whole other level of asshole.”

Yang ground her teeth and looked away.

“You and I are going to have to talk Dad out of going after him, you know.”

“I might _help_.”

“You don’t mean that. You’d defend Blake, any of us, with your life, but you’re not a cold-blooded killer. Me either. That’s why we didn’t sign up when they asked.” Ruby’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “But Dad _is_ , or was. And he will do whatever he thinks it takes to make things right with you again.”

Yang took a deep breath and said nothing.

“I’m not trying to save the guy,” said Ruby. “He can choke and die over dinner tomorrow and nothing of value will be lost. But Dad is _old_ , and tired, and can’t do this anymore. Right now, he thinks he has to.”

“Rubes,” Yang sighed, “I love you, but I can’t do this right now.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to. Just give it some thought.”

**

Blake couldn’t read or watch TV without making her headaches worse, so Weiss and Yang took turns reading to her. They alternated between poetry and a trashy romance novel. “Shall we improve our minds or destroy them?” Weiss would ask cheerfully.

Blake’s wardrobe and most of her possessions were lost in the wreckage of her old building, now being carefully removed piece by piece by a heavy crane on a barge. Yang got some hand-me-down clothes from Coco and scored more for her from a clothing swap that had been set up in town. She couldn’t do anything about Blake’s book collection. Weiss promised Blake a replacement phone when she was cleared to use one again.

One evening, after they’d finished swearing at an especially obnoxious aftershock, Blake sat quietly next to Yang and grasped her hand. “You’ve been so generous and kind to me,” said Blake. “I’m so grateful, and…I don’t know what to do next.”

“About what?” Yang asked.

“I’m broke. Nobody’s cleaning boats right now and I’m probably not up for it yet anyway,” Blake recited. “I’m homeless and living on the charity of my friends. You’ve been staying here for me, and I appreciate it, but you have your own home to go to and I…I don’t think I can join you there yet.”

“Weiss will let you stay here as long as you need to,” said Yang.

“I know, and I’m grateful, but…I can’t live like this forever.”

“What do you want instead?”

“I don’t _know,”_ said Blake, frustrated. “I want a night’s sleep without getting woken up eight times by earthquakes. I want to read a book like a normal person. I want to stop being a charity case. I want a little apartment with a little plant I can take care of. I want…I want to not be _afraid_ all the time.” She laughed a little. “I can’t even trust the _ground_ to stay where I left it.”

Yang’s heart lurched. She pulled away a bit so she could look Blake in the eye. “You’re not…thinking of leaving Patch, are you?”

Blake sighed. “I want to be where you are,” she said. “But does it have to be here?”

Yang swallowed panic, said instead, “Where would you rather be?”

Blake sighed. “I have no idea. Not Vale. Not Haven. Not Menagerie. Too many memories. I want to be somewhere safe.”

“It’s safe here. The aftershocks will stop. The town is already rebuilding. You’ll get on your feet soon. It’s just a bad night.”

“Yeah.” She looked at Yang. “Don’t worry, I’m not seriously thinking of leaving.”

Yang heard her, heard the words, but couldn’t hold back the doubt. Old reflexes kicked in. Yang held her breathing even, held her tears inside her, held her broken heart close, and gave away nothing at all.

“I hope not,” Yang said lightly, as her soul flickered and died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading. More to come.


	9. Curiosity

For a few days after the quake, Blake could hardly move for stiffness and soreness, but by the end of the week she felt more mobile. On one of her occasional visits, Ruby led her through some gentle stretches, and while Blake nearly screamed at the start, by the end she admitted she was walking a little easier.

The headaches came and went. Bright light was still a problem, and she couldn’t read or concentrate for long, but the days grew a bit easier.

Blake worried about Yang.

She was still her usual self, but her inner fire seemed banked. She looked away from Blake more often than she used to. Sometimes she was slow to take Blake’s hand. Once she lost track of a conversation entirely, staring off at something no one else could see.

The gods knew they were all tired. Yang had barely been sleeping for days, between trips to town to help with the cleanup and nursing Blake back to health and nights interrupted by aftershocks.

Yang felt distant. Blake missed her even when she was a few feet away. She wanted to find the words to say something to Yang, but Blake’s words were still elusive creatures, running away from her at the slightest distraction. Blake hoped her head would clear soon.

**

Weiss was spending all her days talking with insurance adjusters. By the end of the day her headache matched Blake’s.

“I’m about ready to drop it all on the lawyers and let them sort it out, in court if necessary, with dueling pistols if required,” growled Weiss over a glass of wine. “I swear these people cannot read simple contracts. I’m getting tired of fending off the basement dwellers too.”

“Which basement dwellers?” Blake asked. By that point she’d made it to sitting at the kitchen table and drinking tea. Everyone considered it a major step.

“The bottom-feeding fish who keep trying to scoop up Signal’s ‘distressed’ properties at bargain prices. I swear if Emerald Sustai calls me one more time I will block her with a brick.”

That name rang a bell, but Blake’s brain wasn’t sharp yet. “I feel like I know Emerald.”

“You might have met her. She lives in town, works for Salem Holdings.”

 _That_ name rang an alarm bell. “Salem is buying up stuff?”

“Everything that anyone will sell. Which is a lot, right now, since they’re willing to take on liabilities. I’m not sure what they think they’ve got in mind, but they’re going to own half the island if this keeps up. Of course, half of what they own is wrecked.”

“That…may be the point.”

Weiss paused. “Blake?”

“Never mind,” she said, embarrassed. “I’d just heard some weird stuff about them lately. From your mother, actually.”

“Hm.” Weiss had the look of a woman who bit into some cilantro and discovered it tasted like soap. “Something else to think about.”

**

Yang came home one night with yet another present for Blake: a phone, with a matching set of headphones.

“They’ve got the cell towers back online,” she said, “and the local provider got a big batch of phones to distribute to everybody who lost one at reduced prices. It’s a refurb model, but who cares. New number for you though. Your old SIM card is probably at the bottom of the harbor.”

Blake’s equilibrium had improved enough that she was able to pick out some podcasts to download without invoking an instant throbbing pain in her temples. Yang and Weiss looked at each other with satisfaction. “You look so much better,” Yang said.

“Can I have my job back?” Blake said to Weiss.

“With reduced hours, yes, if you want it,” said Weiss. “The clients are starting to call again. But you’re wasted on the boats. We have to find you something better.”

**

Yang drove Blake into town for work the next morning.

“Will you be OK if I go back to staying at my place?” Yang asked, quietly, nothing readable in her tone.

“I…yes, of course, but I’ll miss you. I know it’s been hard helping me all the time. I really appreciate it. Are you…going to be OK?”

“Sure,” Yang said, lightly. “Just want to sleep in my own bed and check on the house. I haven’t really been back since…before the quake.”

Blake took Yang’s free hand in hers, gently. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. You and your dad didn’t do anything wrong. Your dad couldn’t have known. I just…wasn’t ready for the reminder.” She sighed. “I was working up to calling you just before the world fell in.”

“I get it,” said Yang.

“Yang…seriously, are you OK? You’re not yourself this morning.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

“…are _we_ okay?”

“I hope so,” she said, and for the first time a hint of emotion touched her voice, a note of fear that she instantly covered. “I’ll text you later?”

“…please. Ruby said she’s going to be at the dojo later so I’m going to stop by. Weiss is picking me up from there.”

Yang’s neutral face slipped into a reflexive worry. “You’re not doing a workout, are you?”

“Just some movement stuff. Trying to get limber again.”

“…okay but tell Ruby if she lets you fall or take a hit even once I’m holding her responsible.”

Blake held tightly to Yang’s note of concern. It felt like a single ray of light shining through a dark fog.

**

Like everything else in town, Ruby’s dojo had a few new cracks in the drywall. Otherwise, the humble storefront looked surprisingly normal.

“Built to code, anchored to the foundation,” said Ruby. “The modern construction in town mostly survived the quake. It’s the older buildings and the ones that weren’t anchored to the rock that were heavily damaged. I just had to pick up the stuff that fell over.”

“I’m amazed we didn’t have more fires,” said Blake.

“We got lucky. Also, I think the gas lines got shut off when the quake hit.”

“Smart.”

They worked through some slow movement exercises, borrowed from tai chi and yoga. Blake winced a lot, but her muscles did feel warmer and looser as they worked.

“Ruby,” she finally said as they cooled off. “I keep panicking. How do I stop?”

“What do you mean?”

“Since I came to Patch everybody has been _so_ sweet and nice to me. All the time. I’ve never met people who were so kind and generous. You, Weiss, _Yang_ , even people like Coco and Fox. It’s like…I want to believe. I want to believe everybody here is that amazing. I want to feel safe here.”

“…but?” Ruby asked.

“…but you saw me at dinner. You’ve seen me around people I don’t know. I…panic. It’s like, my brain just shuts off, and I just want to run. Run away. From everything. It’s not even running _to_ something. It’s just running _from_ something. Every time. How do I stop panicking?”

“It’s not a light switch,” said Ruby with a small smile. “There’s no magic formula. You’ve been through something traumatic — several things! — and it hurts. Sometimes stepping away from the hurt is all you can do. But that only works for so long. Eventually, you have to make the hurt serve you. Find meaning and strength in it. You _survived_. That’s what matters.”

“I just wish I were a stronger person. Like you.”

“You _are_ a strong person _._ One of the strongest I’ve met. The easy path is the defensive one, the one where you spend all your time hiding away. It takes strength to let yourself be open to others, especially after you’ve been hurt. It takes strength to be interested and be kind. With some time, I can teach you to kick butt without tiring, but that’s just training. I can’t teach inner strength. That has to come from you. You have so much of it, it spills over to everyone around you. That’s why everyone who meets you wants you to thrive.”

“Not everyone,” Blake muttered darkly.

“There are always people who think they’re entitled to something they’re not. That’s not on you, that’s on them. You defend yourself against them, survive them, and leave them in the dust behind you.” Ruby grinned like a silver-eyed shark. “Flattened, if necessary.”

“And how do I defend against a _natural disaster_?”

“Same way all of Signal did. You band together, and help each other, and rebuild. Eventually the aftershocks pass, and we get stronger.” She looked rueful. “Getting there just sucks, though. I’m sick of getting woken in the middle of the night. We’re allowed to be frustrated, it’s part of the healing. We have to be gentle with ourselves as well as everyone else. Thank the gods for patient friends and family.”

 _You’re a little miracle of the gods yourself_ , thought Blake, but what she said was “Thank you.”

**

Weiss looked distracted when she arrived. She looked at Blake and seemed to come to some decision. “Blake, before we head back, can I ask a favor of you?”

Blake nearly laughed. “Weiss, I owe you so much. There isn’t much you _can’t_ ask of me.”

“I can’t just throw money at this problem. I…need to ask my mother something. Do you mind coming along? I could use the company.”

Blake swallowed but lifted her chin. “Of course I will.”

They made their way back to the docks, bypassing the ongoing repairs happening all over. Parts of the docks were closed but many were surprisingly untouched, especially the floating sections. Blake carefully didn’t look at the ruins of her former building.

Weiss boarded the _Winter’s Song_ with no visible hesitation. Blake trailed behind more slowly, still cautious on the boarding stairs. They made their way to the communal area of the boat.

Willow was standing near one of the cabin windows, looking out at the activity in the harbor. She must have seen and heard Weiss and Blake approach, but she gave no sign of it. The wineglass in her hand was half empty.

“Hello, mother,” said Weiss.

Willow made no move towards Weiss, just turned slightly and sighed. “Hello, daughter. What brings you to my humble lodgings? And with an employee this time. Here to clean?”

“No, and Blake is here as a friend. You know you’re welcome to stay at the house. There’s plenty of room.”

Willow smiled a bit, without warmth. “Like Odysseus’ men I have eaten too many of the lotus flowers and lost my desire for home, I’m afraid,” she said. “If I must be tied down to a ship and carried along by the heroine, the _Winter’s Song_ suits me well.”

It was obviously an old argument; one Weiss didn’t care to repeat. “Fine. We’ll leave you to your…reading, but before we do: you mentioned Salem Holdings to Blake. Do you know something about them?”

“I did? How careless of me. My mind wanders through idle rambles these days. Too many Dionysian delights.”

“ _Stop_ it. You don’t drop your insufferable random hints at strangers for no reason. What do you know?”

“Know? I know nothing. I am, as my husband has often pointed out, an aging hag, shut away and clinging to ancient dreams of being beautiful and loved. I’m merely curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“Signal is full of curiosities. An earthquake is a curious thing, a slippage and grinding of the earth we stand on down to its very core. As if the gods themselves are remaking the earth. Of course, we know better. We hear of faults, of plates grinding together, of unimaginable pressures built up over decades and released in a moment. So curious, then, that such pressures should reveal themselves _directly_ under an island town of no real importance. Such poor luck. An unforeseen slippage. An unknown fault.”

Both Blake and Weiss stared at her.

“Whose fault was it?” asked Blake.

Willow looked at her with surprise. “What a question! Faults belong to no one and everyone. The fault lies with the gods, clearly. And yet when so many curiosities line up in a row, one must wonder if the gods are not clearly _at_ fault. Allowing pressure to build, unchecked and unseen, until the very earth trembles at our lack of vision.”

“Mother…” Weiss sighed. “Stop pretending to be Pythia. Just tell us.”

“Daughter of mine, I can tell you nothing that you did not see with your own eyes. The town trembled, and part of it fell. The fault lay within, or rather beneath us. Tragedy, indeed, to be above the center of such a gods-driven disaster. One can only imagine the faults that led to it.” She laughed. “And why should I not pretend to be Pythia? Pythia, from _púthein_ , to rot. Is that not a fine description of me? I rot in chains of money and Montepulciano.”

“We’re done now,” said Weiss, rising to stalk out the door. Blake made an apologetic short bow of farewell. Willow smiled sadly, saluted them, and drank silently to their departure.

**

Weiss was not a woman who habitually swore, but after clearing the dock, she took a few moments to let off some whispered steam. Blake caught a phrase about a woman who farts higher than her ass.

Blake stepped up and caught Weiss by the shoulder. She slumped a bit. “Thank you, Blake,” she said. She sighed. “I sometimes envy Yang and Ruby. Their mother was a love. Also, she didn’t live long enough for them all to disappoint each other.”

“Does she really think someone _caused_ the earthquake? Salem?”

“My mother has an active imagination. I heard the same hints you did, but she’s making less sense than usual. Even if we assumed Salem somehow wanted to cause a major quake at a specific place, _how?_ You’d need, I don’t know, maybe multiple underground nuclear detonations. Not very plausible.”

“They say fracking can cause earthquakes,” Blake said, without conviction.

“Little ones, sure. Nothing that liquifies soil and drops buildings into the ocean.”

“So she’s just making stuff up?”

Weiss sighed. “Probably. Almost certainly. My only worry is my mother has—connections. She was born into money, lived in money, knows money. She’s got a social life of sorts despite that witchy-recluse vibe she likes to give off, mostly other bitter rich wives. She might have heard something that set her off. The gods alone know what, or from whom.” Weiss straightened her spine, looked off into the water briefly. “Probably she’s just spinning webs. Hopefully. Occasionally her webs attract flies. And I don’t like how active Salem has been since the clean-up started. Almost as if they were expecting it.”

“We can keep an eye on them,” said Blake, with a hint of pride in that _we_.

“We will,” agreed Weiss.

**Yang**

Hey

Yang

Yang?

Yang are you there?Did I get the number wrong

no I’m here

sorry Blake

what’s up

Is everything ok

it’s fine

dad is staying in his house for now

Ruby and I had a good dinner

got a little workout in

just watching a romcom

I miss you

Can we go on a little date this weekend?

Explore something on the island?

maybe

I don’t want your headaches to get worse

Yang I’ll be fine

I just want to see you

You’re scaring me a little

ugh

that’s all I do these days, scare you

Seriously what the hell

ignore me, I’m so tired I’m stupid, I don’t know

what I’m saying

let me get some sleep tonight and we’ll think

of something for the weekend, k?

Did I do something wrong?

no no no no

argh

I’m just fucking up everything I touch tonight

let me sleep, I promise I’ll be better in the AM

Okay

Sleep well

Feel better

💜


	10. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Past abuse reference

Yang’s soul hurt.

She’d made plans with Blake to check out the autumn leaves on Mount Turtleback on Sunday, but her heart wasn’t in it. It felt like playacting.

One last good afternoon together, before Blake left for good. Like Blake wanted to leave her with a fond memory, a thank you for all the kindness.

Yes, Yang _knew_ Blake had said she wasn’t leaving. She _knew_ everyone was stressed and tired. She _knew_ Blake cared and was trying to reach out. Just like she _knew_ that it was all going to end in secret tears cried into her pillow after Blake boarded the ferry to the mainland.

Yang hated everything, and herself most of all.

**Ice Queen**

Would you please come over for dinner?

not tonight, but thanks

Tomorrow night, then?

you just got me out of your house

are you so anxious to have me back?

Your girl over here is reinventing “pining” as

a participatory sport.

She’s going for gold medals.

9.8 from the Vacuo judge.

It’s getting aggravating.

weiss, knock it off

Did you two get in a fight?

no.

we’re going out this weekend

I just need a little time

Yang.

You know I love you.

Please don’t screw this up.

An odd whim sent Yang walking down to her father’s house. It was hard to believe he could make her mood any worse.

Taiyang’s house was quite a bit smaller than the main farmhouse, though it had been designed with a similar roofline and siding. Originally it had been a shop and long-term guest quarters. Taiyang had moved in full-time after Yang moved back to the island. At the time she thought the move generous, but later she decided her father had been secretly grateful for the excuse. Summer Rose had never lived in the guest house. It was mercifully free of ghosts.

Yang’s father was in the shop when she arrived, doing some leatherwork. It looked like he was mending the strap on an old satchel. He looked up in surprise and some wariness, but his smile was warm. “Hi, Yang.”

“Hey,” she said.

He put aside his tools. “Come to yell at me?”

Yang sighed. “I thought about it, but no. I don’t have the energy.”

“Can I ask how Blake is?”

“Better. She got hurt in the quake, but she’s been recovering at Weiss’ place. Ruby’s been working with her too. Blake’s talking to me again. She says she just panicked.”

Her father shook his head slowly. “Man, if I had known…”

“That photographer would be in a commercial fish trap held down with weights somewhere in the spoil ground at the bottom of the strait. I’d have helped. We didn’t know.”

“Yeah.”

They looked sadly at each other for a moment. “Did you ever think about this kind of thing when you were teaching?” Yang asked. “What people were going to _do_ with these skills?”

“Every night,” her father said. “They say the essence of a soldier is discipline, and that’s true, but it’s really _self-_ discipline. Some soldiers never learn that. They think any amount of shitty behaviour is fine as long as no sergeant sees it. A lot of the jackasses reveal themselves over time.” He breathed in and out, once. “Some don’t, until it’s too late.”

Yang said quietly, in a calm and even voice, “Blake has said next to nothing about the guy. I’m pretty sure she was working with him as a model. Maybe they had a personal relationship, maybe they didn’t. At some point she said ‘no,’ and he didn’t want to hear it. Being stabbed is bad enough, but…the way she’s camera-shy, I’ve been wondering if he…took photos. As a souvenir.”

“Maybe,” her father said. “Ugly as hell.”

“Yeah.”

“You’d really like to get your hands on him, wouldn’t you?”

Yang said nothing for a full minute, just stared into the middle distance. Her father didn’t stir. “I mean yeah, just the thought of him makes me rage, but…let’s face it, the result wouldn’t be healthy for either of us,” Yang finally said. “Especially him, but not just him. And I’m not sure Blake would thank me. If he ever shows up on Patch, consequences will happen, but...I’m not going to try to chase him down.” She clenched her fists. “I just don’t know what to _do_.”

“Just be there for Blake, I think.”

Yang’s spirits plummeted even lower. “I don’t know _how_. She’s _leaving_.”

“Really? She’s going off island?”

Yang put her head in her hands, briefly. “No. Well, maybe. She was upset during one of the aftershocks the other day…”

“Yang, we’re _all_ wishing the island would stop shaking underneath us. Did she actually say she’s leaving? Did she say where she’s going?”

“…no,” Yang said, finally. “I’m just waiting for the inevitable ending.”

“You’re going to _make_ it inevitable if you decide she’s already gone,” her father warned.

Yang’s temper flared. “Why _wouldn’t_ she be gone? We already chased her off once! I promised her I’d keep her safe, and between you, me, and the fucking _bedrock_ , we’ve been doing our damnedest to convince her that she can’t possibly be safe here!” She took a deep breath. “People _leave_ , Dad. They leave all the time. You did. For years.”

“I came back,” he pointed out.

“A little late,” Yang snapped. At the sight of his expression, she cooled off. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“No, but it was honest,” said her father. “It wasn’t fair that we lost your mom. It wasn’t fair that I was never home. What we asked of you when you were a teenager wasn’t fair. But sometimes the world gives us a gift we don’t deserve either. There’s too much unfairness in the world to turn down those gifts.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Yang. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and turned away from her father’s too-open sympathy.

**

Yang went for a ride.

What with one thing and another she hadn’t been on her motorcycle in weeks. It felt good to have the wind buffeting her again. She rode the twisties through the hills near the north end of Patch, leaning heavily into all the turns, feeling the bike as an extension of herself. A moment of respite.

In late afternoon, perhaps inevitably, she found herself at the entrance to the old cemetery, hidden in the northern slopes of Mount Turtleback. She parked the bike, locked up her helmet, and went for a walk. The site had a glorious high-bank view of the water below, looking out over the cliffs towards the dark ocean below. Somewhere far over the horizon lay lands she’d never visited, didn’t even know their names. The world was a big place, far larger than the rock they called Patch.

Storm clouds were forming—in the north, a bad sign. The wind was in her face and picking up. A real gale was coming. Yang couldn’t stay long.

The old mausoleum at the center of the cemetery was still a remarkable sight, a half-built, domeless structure of columns arranged in a tight circle around a table and chairs made from limestone and concrete. Willow Schnee claimed there was all kinds of hidden meaning in the number of stairs, the arrangement of the chairs, and who knew what else, but…Willow. Some island patriarch a few generations back had sponsored the structure, possibly after spending a little too long alone in the woods. _Blake would love this,_ Yang thought reflexively. It was one of Patch’s hidden oddities.

Inevitably, Yang found herself walking around the mausoleum and retracing a familiar path, until she found herself in front of a simple carved memorial, nearly flat in the soil. THUS KINDLY I SCATTER, it read.

Yang wasn’t much of a poetry fan, but this one she knew all too well. She found herself whispering it to the air:

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

And from love's shining circle

The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie wither'd,

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

“Damn it,” said Yang. “Oh, gods damn it all.”

She imagined her mother’s dark eyes and fond expression, maybe with a bit of exasperation. _Hurry,_ Summer seemed to say. _You’re going to be late again._

Yang pulled out her phone.

**Blake**

hey

Hey!

are you at Weiss’ place?

Yes, just got back

Why?

can I come over?

like, now?

Of course

Is everything OK?

no

I mean yes in general

but I’m a human trashfire

and I’m scared out of my mind

and I really really need to talk to you

oh, Yang

come over, please

The winds continued to pick up as Yang rode. By the time she neared Weiss’ estate the gusts were strong enough to force her to lean heavily into the wind to stay in her lane. As she pulled into Weiss’ driveway the heavens opened with a loud crack of thunder, rare for Patch. Yang’s heart was racing as she dashed through the rain towards Weiss’ front door.

Weiss let Yang in with a look of compassion that sat oddly on her often-stern features. Without a word she pointed Yang towards the den. Yang, boiling and distracted, paused a bare moment to kiss Weiss on top of her head in passing gratitude, earning a muted “Hey!” Yang ignored her and rushed onward.

The den wasn’t the largest or grandest room in the house, but Yang could see why Blake had chosen to settle there. It was the closest that the Schnee household came to having a library, with comfortable chairs and bookshelves lining three walls. The fourth wall was made of windows, now being lashed hard by the storm. Rivers of rain washed over the tempered glass.

Blake looked thin but beautiful, a dark shadow lit only by storm light and a reading lamp nearby. Her golden eyes gleamed in the near darkness, pools of reflected warmth. She left her book on a side table and rose to give Yang a hug. Yang clung to her hard enough to cause a muffled yelp. Mortified, Yang released her instantly. Blake’s bruises were still healing.

Blake held Yang’s hands and drew her to a chair. She knelt in front of Yang. “What’s wrong?”

Yang’s body was fizzing with adrenaline. Her hands were shaking with fear. She took two deep breaths for control, and a third for courage.

“Are you leaving Patch?” she blurted out.

Whatever Blake was expecting, that wasn’t it. “What?” she asked.

“The other day, you said you wanted to go somewhere else, and everything here has been horrible for you, and I’ve been waiting for the text that says you’re getting on the ferry and going back to Vale and I…”

“ _Yang_ ,” said Blake. She paused, doubtful. “Do you want me to leave Patch?”

Yang lost all control. “ _NO!”_ she screamed, shaking violently.

Blake grabbed Yang and held her close. Yang tried to hold back the sobs for a moment but gave in, burying her face in Blake’s shoulder.

They sat like that until Yang grew still and her breathing evened out. It took a long time. Blake must have been growing stiff from the odd kneeling stance she was in, but she gave no sign of it. At last, Blake settled back on her heels.

“Everybody leaves,” said a miserable Yang. “My mom died. My bio-mom refuses to speak to me. My dad was never around. I had lovers in school, later in Atlas, and eventually every one of them told me I was _too much_ and left. I got used to it after a while. Just being me, you know? It was okay. And then I met you, and it was like…this is it. This is what I’ve been missing. I knew it the moment I met you. You are…the other half of my soul. And that’s _too much_ to ask of you. It’s too much to ask of anyone. I can’t ask you to stay somewhere that makes you afraid, just because I’m afraid of losing you. I have no rights to you in the first place. I’m just…scared.”

The rain kept falling against the windows. Yang thought she might have felt a distant aftershock, but it was gentle, barely noticeable. Maybe a truck going by on the main road.

Blake ran her hands through Yang’s long mane of hair, gently teasing out some tangles from her motorcycle helmet. Yang relaxed a bit as Blake’s hands kept up a slow, even rhythm. “I can’t lose you either, Yang,” said Blake simply. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Yang sobbed a little in disbelief. “Really?”

“Truly. And not because you asked. Because it’s what _I_ want. I can make choices and decisions too. I’m not just a reclamation project for you, or even you and Weiss and Ruby. I have agency. I have feelings too. And what I feel for you is terrifyingly intense, yes, but it’s also freeing. I can _grow_ with you. You’ve never, not for a moment, tried to break me down or make me smaller. You’ve only tried to lift me up. Make me stronger. Do you know how precious that is to me? How important you are to me? Panic attacks and earthquakes can’t stop that.” Blake paused. “Also, you are _unbelievably_ hot. Like, I want you every time I look at you. But mostly that other stuff.”

Yang laughed a little. Her tears were quieter things now, gentle and calm, washing away what felt like a lifetime of hidden sadness. For the first time she felt a little hope.

“I love you so much, Yang,” said Blake. “You can never be _too much_ for me. And the rights you have in me are the rights I claim with you.”

“It’s a deal,” Yang said. “My love. My life. My soul.”

**

They shifted to a larger chair where they could sit together and watch the storm. The wind whipped at the windows and set nearby trees to groan and strain, but Yang had never felt so at peace.

“I have only one request,” said Blake. “Well, two.”

“Anything you want,” said Yang.

“Help me find a real job and a real place to live,” she said. “Built to earthquake code. I want to be an _equal_ partner, not just living off your kindness.”

“We will,” promised Yang. “It will happen. What else?”

Blake grabbed Yang’s ear and pulled, not gently. “Never ignore my texts again.”

“Ow ow ow! Yes ma’am. Yes. I’m sorry. Yes. Never again. Yes.”

Blake released Yang and put her arms around her. “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

“I love you, Blake.”

The storm outside continued, but Yang and Blake stayed warm in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the inscription on Summer's grave and the lines of poetry Yang remembers are from "The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore.


	11. Together

Blake reported for work the next day with a soft smile that felt like it might become permanent. The hideous art collection she was dusting aboard the _Seas The Day_ couldn’t dampen her mood. She snuck a cell phone photo of an especially bad oil painting, a poorly composed image of an ill-proportioned cowboy riding a bucking stallion while twirling a lasso, and sent it to Yang. _Save a horse, ride a cowgirl_ , Yang replied.

They texted each other off and on through the day. Sometimes Yang came over to Weiss’ place for dinner. Sometimes Blake met Yang at the scooter rental shop and got a ride to Yang’s home. They spent their nights together, often lost in each other. Blake’s red dreams stayed far away.

Blake’s headaches still came and went, though the intensity was much reduced. When she did feel the spike of pain behind her eyes, Yang often rubbed her feet and gave her warm compresses while they listened to a podcast together.

Their conversations flowed. It never felt like they started or stopped talking. They’d pause for a bit while work or a gym workout or some other responsibility happened, then pick up right where they left off. Easy chatter, a gentle sharing of minds.

**

“Blake,” Weiss said one evening over dinner, “have you talked to Fox lately?”

“Not since the party.”

“He mentioned he had an offer he wanted to float by you. The library is still closed but he’s still working there most days if you want to stop by.”

Weiss dropped Blake off at the library on her way to an appointment the next day. It was closed, as Fox had warned her, but there was a beehive of activity inside. Blake knocked loudly and was admitted.

The earthquake hadn’t damaged the building in any substantial way, but that was about the end of the good news. A pile of broken computer equipment sat in a hallway, waiting for recycling. More spectacularly, every bookshelf in the place had tipped over and spilled its contents into giant heaps on the floor. A small squad of volunteers was about halfway through sorting the books into piles for re-shelving. Blake winced in sympathy.

Fox’s office, oddly, hadn’t changed a bit. The advantages of spartan decor.

“My desk chair fell over,” he said with a laugh. “Picked it up and went right back to work. _We shall rebuild_.” He seemed unbothered by the shiner he’d acquired over one eye. It was fading anyway.

“Did you lose too much of the digital collection?”

“Maybe in the old days of onsite servers it would have been a disaster, but all our stuff was in the cloud. We were back online as soon as we got internet service back. It’s the poor print librarians who are tearing their hair out. Fortunately for me, I’m exempt from trying to sort fifty thousand volumes by Dewey Decimal number.”

He leaned forward, “looking” at something over Blake’s shoulder. It was a little disconcerting. “Did Weiss tell you about our little plan?”

“No. Just said I should come talk to you.”

“Typical. I went to Weiss with an idea earlier this week. You know there was a bookstore in the old cannery building by the ferry dock, the one that collapsed.”

“My apartment was in the same building,” Blake said, ruefully.

“Was it really? Weiss said you’d been injured in the quake but she didn’t go into details. I’m so glad you made it out. Anyway, so as you know all too well, the building was a total loss, including the bookstore. Most of their inventory ended up in the water by the time it was all over. Nobody hurt, thankfully. The manager had already gone home that night. Bad news is, the owner has taken the insurance money and left. I heard he caught one of the ferries back to the mainland earlier this week. That means the island has no bookstore. Can’t have that. I object on moral grounds. Also, there’s a buck to be made here. I went to Weiss and asked her if she wanted to invest with me in a new bookstore somewhere less prone to, er, flooding. Weiss saw the possibilities immediately. But she’s too busy to get the place up and running herself, and I’m too blind to be working with print inventory. We’re hoping you might be interested in helping out.”

Blake tried to sort through all this. “So you want me to work in a bookstore?”

“No, we want you to run a bookstore. With me. I’ll worry about the back-office stuff, payroll, and invoices and what have you. Your problem is the actual store. Buy the inventory you want. Hire the people you need. Make the place look good. Sell lots of stuff. Make money for us all.”

“I, um. Wow. You know I’ve never even worked in a bookstore before, right?”

“You read books, right? A lot of them?”

“…yes?”

“You’re already more qualified than the last guy. I can support you on the business side. Weiss trusts you. Everybody you’ve met on island has fallen in love with you on sight. If you keep that streak up, we’re going to do just fine.”

Blake took a breath, and then another, and then a third. “Let me think about it for a day,” she finally said. Her mouth quirked. “Can the bookshop include a tearoom?”

“…if they serve espresso too. The island runs on espresso.”

“Can’t compete with Weiss’ coffee shop,” Blake pointed out.

“…and this is why you’re going to do just fine running a business. But think about the espresso machine anyway. I live on the stuff.”

**

That night Blake dropped Sun a text, since he didn’t have her new number. He replied almost instantly. _Hey, want to get a beer? Neptune and I are leaving day after tomorrow,_ Sun wrote.

They arranged a meet-up the next day at one of the local pubs, located in a newer building and largely untouched by the quake. Sun looked good, only the shadows under his eyes and a mild rasp in his voice hinting that he might be more tired than usual. Like everyone else in town, they began by comparing quake stories. “We were cooking dinner…” Sun began.

“You’ve never cooked a meal in your life. Weed is not dinner.”

“Fine. We were smoking a bowl and having a snack. I got under a table OK but Neptune got knocked over and took out his elbow. He’s in a sling until we can get one of the mainland specialists to look at him.”

“No snowboarding for you two this year,” Blake said with sympathy.

“Well, none for him. I’m working at a ski hill so he’s going to have to cope. Neptune can look decorative in the lodge. He needs a better injury story though. ‘Fell down in an earthquake’ isn’t going to do it. ‘Fought off a grizzly after losing one of my skis,’ maybe.”

“I mean ‘survived a major quake’ ought to be good for some bragging rights.”

“Yours are better. ‘My building fell down on my head and I lived, bitch,’ is about as good as it gets. How are you and Yang doing?”

Blake blushed. “Really, really well.”

“So you’re admitting you’re dating now?”

“Oh yes.”

Sun looked suspicious. “You two haven’t gotten engaged yet, have you?”

“What? No!” Blake said. It wasn’t _actually_ a lie.

Sun shook his head in resignation. “Women loving women. A few weeks together and you’re ready for a combined retirement plan. Brothers grant me strength.”

“Oh _come on_ , how long did it take you and Neptune?”

“I mean about five seconds after we figured it out, but we’d been best friends for years before we, y’know, talked.”

“Meaning somebody pointed out to you that making out for hours was probably a little beyond the realm of ‘best friends.’”

“I think it might have been Coco, now you mention it.”

Blake smiled fondly. “Are you coming back for next summer?”

“Oh sure. Same house, even. We’ll be back as soon as the spring skiing turns to shite.”

“We’ll be here,” said Blake. It felt so good to say. “Hey, I have a question for you. My apartment is gone so I’m still living at Weiss’ place. How did you find a place to live here?”

“Us? Rental listings. Though post-quake who the hell knows what’s going on with the local rental market. But don’t Yang and Ruby have a whole farmhouse they’ve split? Seems like you could move in there.”

“I might, eventually,” admitted Blake. “But Yang has been taking care of me almost non-stop since I arrived on island. I don’t want that to become a permanent habit. Better I have a place of my own, at least for a little while.”

“That’s…yeah, that makes sense. Have you thought about house sitting?”

Blake stopped. “No.”

“A lot of the homes here are vacation places. The owners don’t live here full time,” Sun pointed out. “Or you have some of the permanent residents who get sick of the winters here and disappear for a few months. You could make a little money keeping their place up and occupied, and have somewhere of your own to go when you need it.”

“That’s…a really good idea, actually. Where would I find the leads for that?”

“I think there’s an online message board for that kind of thing. Talk to Coco, she’ll know.”

Blake smiled. “You’re the best, Sun.”

“Tell it to Neptune. He’s mad at me right now. He thinks we should have started packing last week.”

“…you should probably go help with that. Since you're leaving tomorrow, and your husband has only one working arm at the moment.”

“Eh. We’ll work it out.”

**

The following weekend Yang kept her promise to take Blake to see the leaves changing colours on Mount Turtleback. It was growing late in the season. The recent storm had taken already taken quite a few of the leaves off the trees. Blake still enjoyed herself, kicking and shuffling through loose piles of leaves on the trails like a kid.

“Do they have leaves like this on Menagerie?” Yang wondered.

“Not really. It’s much warmer there. Menagerie is more well known for flowers and palm trees. I didn’t learn to appreciate autumn until I moved north to Mistral.”

“Up here fall is great, but everybody spends it bracing for the rain season. We don’t get the deep snow they see in Solitas but for a few months it’s dark, cold, and raining most of the time. Everybody always tries to get outside for the last few days of sunshine before the rains arrive.”

They paused together at the foot of what looked for all the world like a stone staircase, layer on layer of granite rising up the side of the hill.

“We call this the Giant’s Stairway,” said Yang. “It’s not very long, maybe 500 metres or so. Still a fun workout. I’m a little worried about taking you up it today, though. How’s your head feeling?”

Blake hated to admit it. “I probably should take it easy.”

“Yeah, taking a tumble right now would be all kinds of bad.”

Instead, they walked the trail a bit further until they reached a large clearing, surrounded by second growth forest. A trail meandered through tall grass, waving gently in the ocean breeze.

Blake smiled. “This could be a painting,” she said. “All it needs is a couple of wolves standing at the edge of the forest.”

“Dad says the island had wolves once, but the farmers got rid of them all. Too dangerous for the livestock.”

“Pity. Wolves are more romantic than livestock.”

They found a fallen tree and settled in together, looking out across the open clearing.

“So if it gets cold and dark every winter, and all the tourists have left, how do we entertain ourselves for a few months?”

Yang’s eyes sparkled. “We’ll have to improvise.”

“Hm.” Blake pretended to ponder. “Indoor activities.”

They kissed, and in that moment there was nothing in the world but each other.

“So we live happily ever after?” Blake asked.

“That’s the idea,” said Yang. She grinned. “Of course, the town is still wrecked. My dad’s not getting any younger. I don’t want to run a scooter rental shop for the rest of my life. Salem Holdings is buying up half the island, and the Schnees don’t trust them. Weiss needs a date more badly than anyone I’ve ever met. So, y’know, we’ve got stuff to work on.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Yeah. We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That (mostly) wraps it up. Epilogue will go up next week. 
> 
> Thank you for coming on this journey with me. It's been so much fun.


	12. Epilogue

Patch’s rain season arrived all at once, like a sodden blanket thrown from the back of a passing pick-up truck. The days were short and grey, the nights long, with a constant howling wind encouraging everyone to stay indoors.

Blake’s first house-sitting gig started about a week after the rain season began, a small but lovely house along the island’s southern coastline. The house itself was modest but boasted a spectacular living room surrounded on three sides by water, with views looking out over everything. In the twilight she looked out at the water and watched otters play in the area near the rocks. Blake counted herself fortunate, aside from having to go outside to wash off the salt spray every few days.

With the arrival of lousy weather Yang closed the scooter rental shop for the winter. When the snow started to fall, she’d be out on the family truck plowing driveways, but while waiting she alternated between shifts at Weiss’ coffee shop, town clean-up work and hanging holiday lights for people with larger houses. The latter job was lucrative but chilly. Yang often came home and wrapped her hands around Blake’s torso to warm up, sending her straight up to the ceiling with a shriek of laughter.

Taiyang spent a week or so working on his boat. Blake learned why when Yang insisted they head down to the ferry dock one Saturday evening. About a dozen boats drifted by the harbor in a slow holiday parade, all with small white lights outlining every mast, sail, and cabin. _Summer_ brought up the rearguard. They looked like tiny ports of warmth and art in a dark winter sea.

“I’m a little surprised Weiss didn’t bring _Myrtenaster_ out for this,” said Blake.

“Some years she does,” said Yang. “She’s been a little distracted this fall.”

“Haven’t we all. It’s amazing there’s any kind of parade this year.”

“You have to leave room for joy.”

**

The social event of the season was the “grand New Year’s Ball” at the Schnee estate. Blake looked worried when she heard about it. “I barely had any outfits to begin with, and most of them went into the water in the quake,” she said to Yang.

“It’s Patch in the off-season in the earthquake year,” said Yang. “Weiss might enjoy making everyone wear black tie and ball gowns, but there isn’t even a tuxedo shop on the island. Don’t get stressed about it.”

They rocked the party anyway. Yang wore a dark long-sleeve off-the-shoulder wrap-top with lots of décolletage, plus a purple silk neck scarf. Blake wore a deep purple velvet dress with a light gold crop-top jacket, both of which she’d found online.

“Maybe not _the_ most subtle sartorial statement about your relationship,” was Weiss’ comment when she saw them, “but it works.”

“Be glad neither of us wore a choker collar,” teased Blake, and was amazed to see Weiss blush a little.

Weiss, for her part, _did_ wear an evening gown, a shimmery thing of silver that glowed and twinkled under the lights. She both softened and accented the look with an iridescent blue shawl around her shoulders. She moved effortlessly across the floor in her high heels, almost floating.

Ruby had gone fully the other direction, wearing a gothic dress of dark burgundy and black with a near-corset top and a long skirt that revealed her black leggings and platform shoes. Her hair was at its most spiky, her grin as wide as the world. She _bounced_ from person to person, laughing merrily.

The rest of the partygoers wore a blend of dress-up and fancy dress. Yang smirked a bit at Jaune’s Pumpkin Pete t-shirt with designer jeans jacket. Coco wore a classic black dress with a bit of gold trim and heels that were, of course, higher than Weiss’. Even Fox had dressed up a bit, wearing a maroon silk shirt and a trim pair of black slacks.

For the party, Weiss had opened the great room at the center of her house. Grand windows would have overlooked the sea in daylight, but since it was night, a laser light system played hypnotic and intricate patterns over a screen that had been set up for the occasion. A DJ in one corner spun chill beats that would doubtless segue into dance music later in the evening. The sunken space in the center of the room would eventually make a fine dance floor but for now held a few high-top tables for conversation. One whole wall was lined with tables overflowing with food.

Coco’s makeup was perfectly on point. Blake fell into a deep conversation with her about her preferred brands and online makeup tutorials, deep enough that an amused Yang slipped off to say hi to Nora and Ren. Nora was wearing a men’s suit while Ren wore a long formal coat over a tuxedo shirt and black jeans. Nora gave Yang a big hug. “How’s married life?” she asked.

“Nora, we’re not even engaged,” laughed Yang.

“Yuh-huh. We have a betting pool going. I’m not allowed to say anything but if you wanted to pop the question, say, right around…”

“Nora,” said Ren wearily.

“I’m kidding! I would never mess up the odds in my favor. But still, think spring.”

“Let’s not pressure our friends,” said Ren. “But we’re glad you’ve found some happiness.”

Yang smiled. “Thanks. How’s life on the power lines at the moment?”

Nora was an electrician who worked with the island power company. After the quake she’d spent endless hours restringing power lines in chilly and often foul weather. Weiss’ party was one of the first social events she’d attended in the last couple months. “We’re mostly good to go,” she’d said, “as long as nothing else goes wrong. There’s one bit of the southern part of the island we haven’t been able to get to yet. Soon.”

“Which bit is that?”

“That area around the Salem earthworks. They’re still not letting us near the place. Who knows why? You’d think they’d like their power back.”

Yang stiffened a bit. Blake and Weiss had both been worrying aloud about Salem Holdings lately. “Salem has something on the southern end of the island?”

“Yeah, they’ve got a small mine there. It’s listed as a lithium deposit. Who knows, it’s Salem. For all I know it’s where they’ve got their secret base full of aliens. Now that I think about it, that would be kinda cool. Someday we should sneak in and see if they’ve got any flying saucers hidden there.”

“Huh,” said Yang, but didn’t pursue it further. “Not tonight’s problem.”

Blake sidled up to Yang and gave her a quick kiss. “Hi Nora, Ren. Enjoying the party?”

“It’s always good to see how the upper crust lives,” said Ren, smiling.

Blake snorted. “I mean yeah, Weiss counts, but she’s an actual human being. I have a hugely different perspective on the upper crust after cleaning their boats for a while. Some of these people are slime molds with money.” Everybody made sympathetic noises.

“Now Blake,” chided Ren. “Slime molds are useful. They can draw maps. They’re literally being used to simulate the distribution of the dark matter of the universe. Can any of your upper crust clients match that?”

“I’m not sure, but I have definitely cleaned up some dark matter from those boats.”

Everybody paused for a moment of revulsion. “Man, I don’t want your old job,” said Nora.

“How’s the bookstore coming?” Ren asked.

“Just signed the lease for the space, and we’re getting the initial orders set up,” said Blake. “I’m not going to sleep for the next three months, but we’ll be ready to open in time for the next tourist season.”

They were interrupted by Weiss tapping gently on a glass, as the music faded. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I promise we’ll have a proper New Year’s toast. The champagne is already on ice. But first: we need to take a moment to be proud of ourselves. We’ve lived and thrived. Signal is the best community I can imagine, and we wouldn’t be who we are without everyone here. I am so grateful to all of you, for everything. Consider this a thank-you. Here’s to all of you, for all that you’ve done, and all that you will do.”

Everyone raised their glasses together. “To the hostess!” Ruby shouted, and everybody laughed.

“By the way,” Ren said casually to Weiss as she strolled over to join them, “did you hear Pyrrha will be coming back to the island soon?”

Weiss dropped her wine glass. The sound of crystal shattering meshed perfectly with the laughter. The DJ’s deep bass beat carried them all towards the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please tell your friends! This was my first contribution to RWBY fandom. I had a grand time writing it.
> 
> Yes, I left myself some room for a sequel. There's lots more of Patch to explore.


End file.
